


Always

by MamaWardentotheRescue



Series: Warden Tabris Timeline [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, NSFW, Reunion, bang a gong because they're gettin it on, post kirkwall rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaWardentotheRescue/pseuds/MamaWardentotheRescue
Summary: Torn apart by duty and mistakes, Wren Tabris and King Alistair reunite and face the repercussions of their past decisions, all the while trying to protect their daughter.[An original FanFiction.net rewrite]





	1. PROLOGUE – A Knight’s Errand

_9:31 Dragon, six months after the blight_

 

Two days south of Amaranthine a storm tore through a town, flooding the farming flats nearby and uprooting young trees from the ground. As thunder cracked overhead and the wind whipped around anything solidly standing, a young knight rode her way to the local tavern. She remarked on how the ‘town’ was barely a town at all, as there were only four other buildings on the one road. It was more of a place to stop and water your horses.

She tied her horse to a sheltered watering post and made her way to the tavern door. A comforting warm glow welcomed her as she entered, but the eyes that bore into her were less so. The knight straightened her back and exhaled, ignoring the following gaze.

“What can I do you for, ser?” a friendly looking barkeep asked, greeting her with a beaming smile.

“I was to meet someone here,” she explained. “She sent my higher-ups this. I was assigned to escort her back.”

The knight handed him a note that had been untouched by the rain. He opened it with curious look. For a split second she swore his face dropped, but was quickly picked up and went back to his overly cheery persona.

“No, no…I don’t know anything about that. Seen no lady ‘round here besides you. Can I get you an ale? Whiskey, perhaps?”

They had warned her that the Warden was most likely in hiding. She had been lost to them for a good six months prior, and was amazed that they had a response back from her. If the knight was going to find her, she would have to push. Fighting back a growl she looked him in the eye. With a low voice she persisted, “I’m here in service to the Grey Wardens, and I’m looking for the Warden Commander. _Please_ , if you know where she is, take me to her.”

The man’s welcoming manner vanished. It was clear he didn’t know whether to trust her. After a moment of thought, the barkeep gave her a nod. His eyes scanned behind the knight before he leant in to speak. “Follow the trail behind the water trough. You’ll find her there.”

He handed back the note and she thanked him in gold then left, highly aware of the eyes still stuck on her back.

Following the barkeep’s words, the knight led her horse down the muddy path through the howling storm. The further she went, the surer she was the sound of a woman screaming wasn’t the wind, and that she was getting closer to the screams with each step. A knot twisted in her gut.

“This doesn’t bode well, does it Max?” she gulped, anxiously patting her steed. The horse let out a small snuff in response.

It wasn’t long until the knight came upon a small house. After securing Max underneath a sturdy tree the knight approached the door hesitantly, listening as the screams ebbed away into a whimper. She knocked twice. There was a shuffle of feet and the hushing of someone then the door opened a crack. An elderly woman peaked through at the knight.

“Who’re you? What d’you want?” she barked. The knight took out the letter she had shown the barkeep. It was now a bit damp.

“I need to see the Warden Commander.” She replied, slightly more aggressive than intended. She was cold and wet and wanted this to be over, and if she was honest she didn't trust the old woman. “I was supposed to meet her in town, but she never showed up. The innkeeper led me here when I asked about her.”

The elderly women scrutinised the note and her face before quickly inviting her in. Finally, in the warmth of a fireplace the knight took in her surroundings and her host. A set of arm chairs faced the crackling fire, and a large hide of a former black bear covered the floor in between. A preparation table covered with alchemy tools and reagents sat under a window. Shelves lined the walls with jars of dried up things, powders and a few books and artefacts that looked older than the woman who owned them. The woman herself was covered in blood.

“Where’s the Commander?” the knight asked, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The woman watched it cautiously.

“She’s 'ere,” she answered, “But she…isn’t well. My boy and I ‘ave been healin’ ‘er.”

“I need proof of that, madam. I heard screaming-”

The woman clenched her jaw and shook her head, quickly insisting against it. “ _She needs rest._ You can see 'er in the morn'.”

She left the knight, and shuffled down a short hall to a back room. Annoyed at her host and a sense of curiosity growing, the knight found herself quietly sneaking down that very hall. The closer she got the easier it was to hear somebody speaking. Hesitantly, she put her ear up to the door.

“She’s so small, my lady,” a man’s voice said with concern. “She may not survive the night.”

“She _will._ ” a woman’s voice croaked with such conviction. “She’s strong.”

The knight didn’t understand what they meant. What had happened to the Commander? Is she really as small as they say? The old woman piped up and mentioned the knight’s arrival. She told the other two that they would meet her after a night’s rest. The man thanked her, calling her ‘Old Mag’. The door knob started to turn.

A small jolt of panic surged through the knight. She backed away from the door as quickly and quietly as she could in full plated armour. Old Mag shuffled out with a basket of bloodied bed linen. Ignoring the red-faced knight, she discarded the spoiled sheets in a tub of boiled water. The knight wondered if the water was already boiled, or if some sort of magic was behind it.

“'ere, girl!” the old woman barked, tossing her a fresh blanket from a cupboard underneath. She told her to sleep by the fire. Despite feeling like a child being ordered around by a mean nursemaid, the knight didn’t argue. She was exhausted, wet and cold, not to mention confused. She had many question and about zero answers. So it didn’t surprise her that she quickly fell asleep, even with the angry sky clashing above. However, it didn’t last long; she woke up to loud, boisterous crying. Stumbling to her feet, the knight followed the noise sleepily.

The cries were coming from the back room. It sounded like a child. _That’s odd,_ she thought. _Why would a child be here?_

Both her confusion and curiosity grew when the knight opened the door; the first thing she saw was an elven woman lying in bed. She had auburn hair that was pulled back in a dishevelled bun, and it made it easier for the knight to see the tattoos that framed her face. An old scar slit through her right brow. Other scars peaked out from under her sweat stained tunic decorating her neck, arms and collar bones. She looked exhausted. The elf sat upright in the bed with a small bundle in her arms. A very large mabari hound sat at the foot of the bed, while another elf knelt by the bed. He had an astounded look on his face. Old Mag on the other side with gobsmacked expression.

“The babe is still alive!” She gasped. _Very alive,_ the knight agreed. The cries were ear splitting.

“I told you,” the elf woman said, “She’s strong.”

She slowly rocked the baby, so enraptured in its little face. The boy let out a small sigh, but quickly jumped into action at the sight of the new visitor.  He looked exhausted, but ready to fight the knight if need be.

“Easy, Ian.” The old woman murmured, “This is the girl I told you 'bout last night.”

The new mother looked up at the knight. Was this really the one she was supposed to escort back? Surely her superiors would have mentioned if the new Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens was with child…

“Warden Commander Tabris,” the knight said, bowing her head and placing her right fist over heart. “I am Ser Mhairi of the Grey Wardens. I was sent to escort you to Vigil’s Keep.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to run around in this storm for me, Mhairi.” The warden replied with a weak smile, “But you’re going to have to let me rest before you do what you were sent to do.”

The new commander looked away from Mhairi and stroked her baby’s face with a finger. The child had settled down in her mother’s arms. She was so small. Too small. Mhairi had seen infants that small be born back home and they rarely survived. If they did they were never ‘strong’. They were weaker than other children and would grow up with health issues, particularly if their parents couldn't afford a decent healer. What would make this one any different?

The hound gently snuffled the newborn’s head, giving the warden a lick on her hand. Keeping an eye on the dog, Mhairi stepped forward with a stern look on her face.

"I understand now why you need such respite, Commander, but I have many questions and I believe I deserve answers!"

She did have many questions, as did all Fereldens; their hero vanished without a word for six months when they still needed her. Was this the reason for her disappearance, or was there something more? And now she wanted Mhairi to wait again, and for how long? Without thinking all of her frustration that had bubbled like boiling water for half a year, burst out of her. She asked these questions, she begged for an answer, she cried about the fear that crept up on the country after the blight. They needed their hero for so long, and here Mhairi was…breaking down in front of her.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from,” the knight lied, sniffling into her sleeve. A deep blush crept up her neck. The warden watched her compose herself in silence.

“You’re right. I _did_ leave you and it was unfair of me,” the warden confessed. Her voice was sympathetic, but her green eyes were hard. “But I had my reasons. _Personal_ reasons. And now I’m back to make up for that time…if you want it.”

Mhairi nodded without a word. Old Mag cut the tension by suggesting that the baby be fed. The knight was about to leave before being asked to help the warden out of bed and into an armchair close to the fireplace. The hound followed faithfully and sat in front of the fire, resting his big head on his paws.  As Ian came in the change the bed linens, Old Mag handed the new born to her mother before leaving the two of them alone. The knight sat in the chair opposite to the warden and silently watched her feed her daughter. As the little baby suckled on her mother, Mhairi debated whether she should speak or not.

“I know you have questions, Mhairi,” the warden said, making the decision for the knight. “And I will answer them, but I need you to swear that you’ll never mention… _this_ to anyone. Not until I say so, at least.”

‘This’ being her pregnancy, her secret child. Mhairi wondered what made her ask such a thing. She clearly went to such great lengths to keep it a secret. And the look on the warden’s face told her that it wasn’t a request.

“Of course, my lady,” she assured, placing a hand over her heart. “I swear it.”

Satisfied with her answer, the warden moved the full baby away from her breast so she could cover up. Mhairi offered to hold the babe for her convenience, but she refused. She seemed determined to keep her child close to her at all times.

“How will we travel in your condition?” the knight asked hesitantly. The warden didn’t look bothered with her valid question. She explained that they would travel to Vigil’s Keep with Old Mag and the elf boy, Ian. Apparently, the old crone put up a fight when she heard the baby might be dragged into danger.

“They have friends close to the keep that will take them and my…daughter in, while we continue on.” The warden finished. Mhairi could tell she felt odd saying the words ‘my daughter’ for the first time.

Mhairi looked at her. “But how? You just had a child, my lady -”

The elf let out a dry laugh and responded, “I’ve travelled in worse conditions, believe me!” The warden softened and gave the knight a gentle smile. “Thank you for your concern, Mhairi. And call me Wren. I’m no lady.”

Even though Wren had brushed her concerns off humorously, Mhairi still worried. There was so much she needed to ask the warden. More than she had planned. Where would she even start? Would she be so bold and ask Wren about the druffalo in the room? She wasn’t sure.

Mhairi spent the next few days doing chores for Old Mag and writing a long elusive letter to her superiors back at Vigil’s Keep, while Ian continued healing the warden. She suspected the boy was a mage, as Old Mag would rush her away when he’d begin his checkups on their patients. It didn’t bother her, as long as he didn’t become a danger to them. Finally the day of leaving was upon them. It had felt as though Mhairi had been stuck in the shack for years, and she was glad to be getting on the road again. She helped Mag load the small cart with food, blankets and other alchemy equipment. As Mhairi readied her horse, Max, for travel once again, Wren and Ian left the shack with an excited mabari hound on their heels and a bundled-up baby. They all helped the warden up onto the back of the cart, and Old Mag wrapped a thick woollen blanket around her and the baby.

“Up you get, Blaise!” Wren called to her hound. He quickly bounded onto the cart and settled by his mistress’ feet.

“To Vigil’s Keep then, Commander?” Ian raised a brow, as he moved to the front of the cart next to the old woman.

“To Vigil’s Keep.”

 

* * *

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

Heavy feet stomped down one of the many corridors of the Royal Palace homed in the city of Denerim. Each step echoed through the halls like thunder cracks. The king was coming and he was frustrated. He was frustrated at the constant demands of he and his wife bearing a child, an heir to the Theirin throne. As if they both hadn’t already suffered enough…

“Your Majesty, do you need any assistance-”

No, he didn’t. And he still wasn’t used to being greeted in such a way. To him, he was still the poor royal bastard named Alistair. _No use complaining,_ he reminded himself.

Alistair's sturdy leather boots crunched on the hard gravel as he walked over to the royal stables. His horse was ready to ride just like every other day around this time. It was a way to clear his head and keep in touch to his people in Denerim. Unfortunately, it usually meant a guard would follow him just in case an overzealous thug thought they could claim the prize of a king.

Eagerly taking off on his mount, Alistair made his way through the streets of Denerim until he found himself in the familiar surrounds of the market place. Women, children and workers greeted him happily as he got off his horse and strolled through. This was one of the very few places he could regain his composure and reminded him of his duty, the true core of it; Ferelden’s people. It also reminded him of his earlier days during the Fifth Blight, where he helped save the country from itself and from evil. It reminded him of _her._

Leaning up against the stone wall of the chantry gate, Alistair watched people do their daily chores as a nearby kings guard watched him. Everyday he would watch one person in particular and make a game out of it; what were their motivations, their home life like, did they have a saucy secret hidden? This day it was a young elf girl who was looking at a bread stall. She was taller than most elflings and better dressed than those from the alienage. The girl wore a powder blue dress with laced up boots, and had her auburn hair pulled back into a braid. Before he could build up a backstory for her the bread stall owner screeched at the girl.

" _You filthy little thief!"_

"No, no – I'm not! I'm not!" she cried. Alistair ran over to the commotion before any guards could. He knew there were those who still held grudges against the city elves for the murder of Vaughan Kendells, and would gladly take what they thought was justice into their own hands, regardless of age.

"What's going on here?" Alistair demanded, standing protectively behind the girl. The stall owner froze as she stared up at her king in horror.

"Y-your Majesty," she stammered. The elf girl froze, but eventually looked up at him. Her big, brown eyes were brimmed with tears. With a shaky hand, she showed the king her leather pouch, which held many sovereigns.

"She thought I stole the coin," the girl explained in a nervous voice, "But it's _mine!_ I got it from my granpapa."

The old woman, uncomfortably scoffed at the story. Alistair turned his gaze to frown at the stall owner.

"You don't believe her?" he asked. She straightened her back and tried to make herself look dignified before replying with a sneer, "Your Majesty, the elves _here_ don't have money like that, so I-"

"Accused a child of theft, when she's clearly not from _here,_ " he finished her sentence indicating at the young elf's fine clothes. "One should not be judged for what they are, but for who they are, madam. Now, would you kindly give this young girl what she intended to buy and we will be on our way."

The stall owner turned bright red. After a few minutes of mumbling and handing over some loaves of bread, the elf girl turned to Alistair.

"Thank you,” she said shyly, and turned away from him before gasping. An elven woman was walking towards them. Alistair's heart stopped when he saw her. He never thought to see that face again…

"Hope!" the woman cried, relief replacing her concern. The girl ran to her, arms wrapping around her waist.

"You're supposed to be with at the Alienage," the she lightly scolded the girl, Hope.

"Granpapa needed some bread," the young girl explained, her brow slightly pulling together, "Then that lady-" she looked towards the bread stall "- started yelling at me!"

" _What?"_

"Don't worry," Alistair cut in, "I sorted it out."

The two elves looked at him, the mother freezing at his presence. He sheepishly raised his hand in greeting.

"Hey Wren," he smiled, heart pounding like a drum. "Long time, no see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story that I originally started back in 2012 on FF.net when I first played DA:O (I was thirteen or fourteen at the time, so enough said). My warden, Wren, has been my saviour since then and I feel happy that I've come so far with her by my side (figuratively). I finished the original story back 2015, a year after Inquisition came out, and I've been itching to rewrite it all as it was the first fic I have ever finished. I would love for you to leave a comment and constructive criticism is more than welcome! 
> 
> To those who have followed me from FanFiction.net, thank you for your loyalty and patience. For those who follow me here on Ao3, this is the reason why I haven't posted much on my other fics. To those who have stumbled onto my work purely by chance, welcome and I hope you enjoy my story.
> 
> [link to the original story and my old FF.net account is in my profile]


	2. A New Hope

_9:31 Dragon, six months after the blight_

 

For the first two days on the road the foul weather held up as Mhairi, Wren and their companions travelled to Vigil’s Keep. All of them, but the warden, were concerned about the baby drifting away through the wetlogged nights. They were thankful when the rain stopped on the third day. Taking advantage of the Maker’s blessing, they all decided to stop and camp for the night.

It took a while for the knight to find dry wood, and it was even harder to start a fire. The elf boy, Ian, watched Mhairi as she tried in vain to started a spark. She swore in frustration.

“Here, let me.” Ian said, his words making plumes of steam. He collected some new kindling to cover the damp sticks and held his hands over it. There was a spark and then flame. Mhairi gave herself a mental pat on the back for being right about the boy being a mage.

The night grew darker, but they had a roaring fire to light their surroundings. An old oak tree backed the camp, its broad trunk giving a certain amount of protection to the campers. Old Mag snored loudly near the fire, and Ian sat by her watching the flames. The knight slumped down next to the warden who has feeding her daughter. The child looked healthy and barely touched by the bitter chill that followed them. How was that possible?

Wren asked what she was thinking about, as she stared at the baby suckling her breast. The elf had a jovial glint in her eyes. Mhairi repressed the urge to roll her eyes but could feel the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Do you have a name for her yet?” she asked, changing the subject. Wren looked her daughter. After a while she answered.

“Hope.”

There was something in her voice that made Mhairi wonder what influenced her decision. It was sad, almost melancholic. There was definitely a story behind the name, but she wasn’t going to pry.

“She may live up to the name someday,” the knight commented. The warden was about to reply before something snapped nearby. The warden’s hound, Blaise, growled. Mhairi was about to launch herself into action, but Wren touched her arm silently shaking her head. Ian made a small nod indicating behind him. The two elves communicated easily without saying a word. Mhairi couldn’t see anything in the dark, nothing but the looming moons. That was until two glowing eyes appeared out of the field of long grass ahead of them.  Another pair appeared soon after. They reminded her of cat eyes with the way they reflected the light of campfire.

“They’ve been following us since we left.” Wren said in a hushed voice, tucking herself in her tunic again and preparing the baby, Hope, to burp. “I wanted to know how close they would get.”

The big magical fire made sense now. That also meant Ian was in on her apparent plan too. Mhairi carefully looked to either side of their camp, and sure enough she could see eyes staring back.

“What do they want?” she asked. Wren didn’t answer.

“They’re not dalish.” The warden said.

“How do you know?”

“I can hear humans.”

 _Bandits_ , the knight thought. She had heard of the natural abilities of elves, heightened senses and a natural affinity for magic. Mhairi never knew if it was true or old wives’ tales, so it sparked her curiosity to find that half of it was true as much as it unnerved her.

“Could they be waiting to ambush?” Ian asked quietly.

“Maybe.”

That night they barely slept, as they kept guard on the ever watchful eyes that stalked them. When the morning came, nobody was there. Still, each night they lit some sort of flame and every night they would see the eyes. It made for a very tense trip. Wren kept very quiet on her theory why they were being followed, so Mhairi could only come up with her own. They all ended with the warden being the target.

After heavy rainfall and dealing with their ominous pursuers, the group finally arrived at their first destination. An old farm house whose windows were lit in welcome. The friends of Old Mag and Ian greeted them with a hot meal and some clean clothes. After an hour going over their original plan, Mhairi reminded her commander that they needed to move on.

“We’ve taken enough of your time already,” she said. Wren begrudgingly agreed and asked her to help with her armour that was still in their cart.

The armour was a sight to behold; it was all made from a high dragon that the warden had slain in the Frostback Mountains. Mhairi gawked at the two blades. She wasn’t one to obsess over such things like other knights, but there was no doubt in her mind that those weapons were stunning.

“This one is Starfang. It was made from starmetal I found,” the warden explained, holstering the glowing longsword on her back. She turned to her other weapon on the table. Her fingers caressed the curved dagger and continued, “And this is Fen’Harel’s Fang, or just ‘Fang’ as my Ma called it.”

In a swift motion, Fang was holstered too.

It was astonishing to see the warden in her armour, after being in recovery for a week. Mhairi could finally see the Warden Commander in Wren. She could see the Hero of Ferelden.

Soon afterwards they said their farewells. Wren hesitantly gave her daughter back to Old Mag, giving Hope a gentle kiss on the forehead. She ordered her hound to stay with Hope ‘just in case’. Blaise agreed with a bark.

“To Vigil’s Keep,” Mhairi heard Wren murmur to herself over and over, as she climbed onto her borrowed horse. She noticed that she refused to look back at the farm house as they rode further away.

 

It took the rest of that day to ride to Vigil’s Keep and night had fallen by the time they arrived. The storm had hit again and was unrelenting. As the two of them rode closer to the keep’s gate, Wren stiffened and her eyes glazed over for a moment. The gate was opened wide. For some reason a feeling of dread settled into the pit of Mhairi’s stomach.

“There’s supposed to be someone at the gate.” She said. As if they heard, a soldier came screaming out of the keep. He was followed by growling darkspawn. Without hesitation, the warden slipped off her horse and ran into battle. It seemed that her lack of concern about her hindered abilities back at Old Mag’s hut were warranted. One would think she never gave birth.

The fight was over before the knight had got off her horse.

“You painting a picture or what?” Wren asked her, before turning to the terrified soldier. The man thanked her profusely before he explained that darkspawn had overtaken the keep, slaughtering many but not all. The wardens that were once stationed there were no more. A wave of déjà vu hit the warden hard.

“Please help! They have Seneschal Varel!”

“Don’t worry, it’s kind of my job to kill darkspawn.” the warden assured the man, walking past him towards the gates with her blades out.

“Stay safe!” Mhairi called out to him, following her commander.

He was right; darkspawn swarmed the keep and only a few had survived the onslaught. Luckily, they managed to rescue some soldiers and a merchant. Mhairi felt like it was the blight again. While her hands shook with a level of fear, Wren was in her element. She was like the hurricane that had followed them. She slid in the mud to glide through each kill, merciless with each strike. She cursed and taunted them further as if it were a game, and maybe it was to her.

“That’s for your mother.” Wren spat, taking down the last darkspawn in the area.

“That thing has a mother?” Mhairi asked with a bemused expression. She didn’t get an answer. Darkspawn really seemed to darken the warden’s spirit.

The two of them made their way inside. After fighting what felt like hundreds of darkspawn, they came upon the cells where they met a mage who was setting something on fire. He turned around as they walked in and cursed.

“I didn't do it!” he quickly said, "It's not what you think."

“I dunno, it looks fairly straightforward.” Wren observed, pointing her dagger towards the flaming corpses. Some were darkspawn, others were templars. "What happened here?"

The mage’s shoulders fell. “You wouldn’t believe me…”

“What’s your name?” she asked him instead.

“Anders.”

“Are you dangerous, Anders?”

He gave her a curious look. He had never been _asked_ whether he was dangerous before. Everyone just assumed he was.

“Well, I…” Anders replied cautiously, “No. No, I’m not. What are you going to do with me?”

“You’re gonna come with us and help fry up some darkspawn.”

Mhairi and Anders both gave a look of shock to the warden. The knight thought she was being reckless, but the mage was just surprised she trusted him enough to not kill him.

After more introductions and a persuasive argument for Anders’ help, the three of them continued through the keep. There were few survivors inside, but they managed to get them to safety before the darkspawn got to them. Amongst the chaos a dwarven survivor was causing explosions. His bombs helped rid the keep of a considerable amount of darkspawn, but it was very disorienting. They pushed further into the keep and the group eventually come upon an old friend. Oghren the dwarf was swinging his massive axe at his enemies, while laughing manically. Clearly, he was in good spirits.

“Warden, I knew I’d find you in the thick of it!” he roared triumphantly, waving at them.

“Oghren, you drunken sonovabitch!” Wren greeted the dwarf enthusiastically. It was the first time Mhairi saw the warden truly smile. The dwarf jumped down from the railing onto a darkspawn corpse and walked over to the elf to receive a slap on the back. The two of them reunited with jokes of old times.

“I forgot how good you were with those things,” Oghren commented, jabbing a stubby finger to her blades. “Pike Twirler had nothing on you!”

The comment sent a jolt through Wren and Mhairi noticed. She winced so hard, it looked like she had been pricked with a sewing needle.

After hasty introductions, Oghren mentioned he wanted to join the Grey Wardens. Wren was thrilled, the others were less so. Despite Mhairi and Anders’ protests the dwarf joined them in their battle to reclaim the keep. It wasn’t long until they stumbled upon Mhairi’s friend, Rowland. He was dying from a fatal wound.

“The darkspawn, it _talks!_ ” he spluttered. Bloody spittle covered the poor man’s chin.

“Well we better shut it up then.” Oghren rumbled. They all agreed, but Wren found it troubling that the darkspawn they were up against were more intelligent than she had ever encountered. Well…besides the archdemon.

Rowland cried out in pain. “There’s something inside of me. It burns!” He grabbed Mhairi’s wrist and stared at her intensely. “You have to kill it. It has the seneschal.”

“We will, Rowland.”

He seemed to be satisfied with her answer. Rowland gave her a pained smile, and let his body slump against the wall slowly.

“Rowland?” Mhairi whispered, touching his face. He didn’t respond. She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. “I will avenge you. I give you my word.”

She stood up and met her commander’s gaze; Wren gave her a look of pity.

With a new fire burning in their bellies, the four of them continued to the roof of the keep. They soon found themselves face to face with the hurlock in purple who had taken the seneschal. Rowland was right about it being able to speak; its speech was guttural like an animal snarling words, and incomplete like a child’s vocabulary. What was most shocking was its eyes that had an individual’s intelligence rather than a hive mind like its kin.

“Take the Commander gently. Kill the rest!” the hurlock growled, pointing a jagged blade towards Wren and her posse. They all jumped into action; Mhairi moved towards the seneschal that was held by knife point, Oghren followed behind Wren towards the hurlock in purple, and Anders rained fire on the rest.

The fight didn’t last long.

“Seneschal Varel, are you alright?” Mhairi asked, giving him a hand up. The older man stood and looked at the bodies around him.

“I’m alright compared to this lot,” he winced. Before he could introduce himself properly to Wren, the surviving guards below started to yell. Apparently someone was approaching. They made their way down and out of the keep, passing bodies of friends and foes. Oghren joked about it looking like Orzammar.

“Who’s arriving, soldier?” Varel asked, as they came closer to the keep’s gates. The guard was relieved to see the old man alive.

“It’s…It’s the king, my lord.”

The warden commander stopped in her tracks. Oghren elbowed her in the thigh and gave her a look. She composed herself again and continued forward with her group, unsure whether she was able to face the very reason she ran away.

 

* * *

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

Wren Tabris stood there staring at Alistair. He hadn’t changed much besides a few more lines of his face and a neatly cropped beard. Looking at him made her feel like she had been punched in the gut and dragged through jagged glass. She hadn’t seen that man in a very long time.

“Is it _him?_ ” Hope whispered, tugging on her sleeve. Dragging her eyes away from the king, she told the girl to go back home.

“I’ll be with you in a second, okay?”

Hope nodded begrudgingly and gave them both an unsure wave goodbye. Alistair watched her walk off towards the alienage. He would have stood there, lost in his own thoughts, if it weren’t for the fact that his old flame was burning bright in front of him for the first time in years. She hadn’t changed really. There were a few more scars on her face and neck, but nothing too severe. Her auburn hair was longer and had to be tied back from her face. And her face…well, it still left Alistair breathless.

“Thank you,” Wren said, pulling him out of his daze. “For helping Hope.”

The warden tried to avert her gaze from his, but failed when he asked, “Was that _her?_ ”

Green eyes met his brown. She didn’t need to say anything. Alistair knew the answer.

“I should leave now,” Wren muttered, looking at the civilians who were now crowding around to watch them. “People are starting to stare.”

“Let them.”

Alistair wanted to hold her and ask her so many questions, but she looked like a cornered rabbit. There was fear in her eyes. She wanted to run. Ignoring the crowd, their king moved closer to the warden.

“Come to dinner,” he said, almost begged. “We were having an early feast for All Soul’s Day anyway.”

“I don’t know…” she replied, shaking her head and moving away from him.

“Please, Wren.”

The warden looked at him. She was in pain and this whole scene was overwhelming. Still Alistair pushed as gently as he could without sounding demanding. “I want to meet _her_ properly.”

Looking down at her dusty boots, Wren sighed. “We’ll see if we can make it.”

Before she turned away and followed her daughter, the warden looked up at Alistair again and gave him a small smile. “It was good to see you again,” she murmured. Her smile turned sour as she continued. “Say hello to your _wife_ for me.”

Alistair watched the woman he loved walk away from him once again. He was unsure whether he was breathless because of her…or her parting words.

 

Wren quickened her pace over the new bridge that connected the city square and alienage. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and it wasn’t because of her walk. She thought she could fight it, but Alistair still had that affect on her that made her insides melt. She wanted to run again, far away this time.

The warden stopped in her tracks when she passed over the bridge. She let the sounds and smells of her home calm her. It was different since the last time she was here; the buildings that had been burnt or torn down during the battle of Denerim were rebuilt, no doubt by the help of the king. A small chapel sat where the old orphanage used to be. Alarith’s store was now neighbours with a school and home for children. And the vhenadahl was still slowly recovering from archdemon burns, something Wren was familiar with. She gently touched her right forearm at the unpleasant memory.

Wren found herself running the tips of her fingers over its ancient bark. She remembered climbing the tree at her mother’s wake, so she could place Adaia’s favourite socks up on highest branch. It was tradition to leave a part of a lost one with the tree. It saved on having a graveyard, and in return saved the vhenadahl from being chopped down and used for lumber. After the darkspawn attack, a lot of memories were burnt, but the vhenadahl survived and more memories were placed on its branches.

She slowly made her way to her old home. It was also burnt in the fight, but not enough to destroy it completely. Furniture was lost with the roof, but the foundations stood. Wren’s father, Cyrion, who became the knew elder and unofficial ambassador for the alienage, used what was left of his own coin to rebuild the house. It now had rooms upstairs and running water.

“Ah, my little bird has finally flown back home!” Cyrion smiled, as Wren walked through the door. She gave him hug, longer and tighter than usual. He asked, “Are you alright?”

Before she could reply Hope came squealing down the stairs with a lumbering mabari hound behind her. Bright red and green paint was smeared on Blaise’s coat like kaddis, but in the shape of childishly drawn wings. The two of them comically skidded to a halt and stared wide-eyed at Wren.

“Hey, Mama,” Hope smiled sheepishly.

“Hope Adaia Tabris,” Wren turned to glare at her daughter, placing her hands on her hips. “Have you been in Aunt Shianni’s paint again?”

“…no.”

Blaise borfed. The little girl turned to him with a look of betrayal.

“Then why is Blaise covered in paint?”

“That’s not Blaise,” Hope tried convince them, “That’s a dragon.”

Wren looked over at the hound who was wagging his nub of a tail happily. _What a terrifying scaly beast_ , she thought to herself. Cyrion chuckled. Ignoring the disapproving look from his daughter, the old elf called Hope over to the stove fireplace.

“I need someone to help me light the fire for tea,” He explained, “Would you be able to help me?”

The little elf lit up, and so did her little palm. Hope touched a log already in the compartment and it was set alight. Cyrion thanked her as she put out her hand.

“You know you have matches, right?” Wren said pointedly.

“I know. But I also know Hope likes to help her old Granpapa!”

After a few minutes tea and buttered bread was served on the old oak table. It was the only surviving relic of the Tabris household. Many meals had been shared on it and would continue to do so until another wave of flames takes it.

“We’ve been invited to the Royal Palace this evening,” Wren informed her father.

“How did they know you were here?” he asked, sipping his tea.

“Granpapa! Granpapa! _He_ helped me!” Hope interjected excitedly. Cyrion looked at his daughter for a better explanation, and so she obliged. Wren told him what had happened and he listened patiently.

“I want to go see him, Mama.”

Cyrion and Wren looked over at Hope. She had the same determined look that her mother has and her grandmother before her. Her big brown eyes stared at the two other elves. “Please?” she begged.

Wren let out a small groan. She told Hope to go with Blaise and find Shianni to apologise for the paint, so Wren could have a moment to think it over.

“Fine.” Hope sulked, climbing out of her chair. She slumped out the door, sighing dramatically with every step.

“She’s too much like your mother,” Cyrion muttered, before turning back to Wren. She looked tired, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see there was fear there too. “Talk to me, little bird.”

What could she say that encapsulates all of her thoughts and fears? For years she had spent everyday staying out of everyone’s sight, keeping her daughter safe and the truth of her lineage safer. And now she was in the centre of it all, with every pair of eyes trailing them both.

And then there was Alistair. The king of Ferelden, the father of her only daughter, her missing piece. The man she was forced to leave in the name of duty. Wren hoped to keep him away from them to protect his reign. She had hoped that if that day arose the king and queen would have a child of their own first.

Why did he forget the feelings of his wife when he offered the invitation? After all, it was one of the reasons he refused to fight for their relationship to continue. Wouldn’t the queen disagree with his abrupt decision?

“Would you like me to give you my opinion?” Cyrion asked gently, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Do I have a choice?”

The old elf chuckled. He poured himself some more tea before he said anything. After taking an agonisingly long sip, Cyrion said, “I think we should go together.”

“You just want a free meal.”

“No…well yes, it’s definitely a bonus but not my reason.” He grinned cheekily, “I think Hope and Alistair deserve to meet each other properly. They’ve seen each other now. They’ve broken through the bank, so to speak, and there's no stopping the water. It’s no good drowning, my girl.”

 _But drowning is easier_ , Wren thought. Cyrion took his daughter’s hand in his. She looked into his wise eyes and wanted to cry.

“What if it goes wrong?” she whispered, “What if he doesn’t fight for her…like he never fought for _us?_ ”

“My sweet, brave, little girl,” he cooed, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. He gave her a knowing smile. “He will fight the gods for his daughter. Believe me, I know that personally.”

In that moment Wren’s fear loosened its grip just a little bit and made it easier to breathe.

 


	3. We All Have A Hunger

_9:31 Dragon, six months after the blight_

 

Wren felt sick. Almost as sick as when she sailed on the Siren’s Call for the first time. Her stomach was whirling and heart was beating like a drum. He was coming. Alistair was coming to her…

It had been six months since she last saw him. In six months Wren’s life flipped upside down. It felt like a lifetime ago, and if she was honest, Wren hadn’t felt like herself since. But as she watched the king ride up with a small cavalry behind him, her old self crash landed.

Alistair hauled himself off his armoured mount with a laboured huff and sloshed through the mud to his greeting party at the keep’s gates. He wore his golden ceremonial armour that once belonged to his brother, Cailan, and his old warden cloak. The Rebel Queen’s shield and Maric’s sword was strapped to his body. The king was prepared to fight.

“We were already on our way to Vigil’s Keep when we ran into one of your soldiers,” Alistair commented, “When we heard what he had encountered…well, we hauled arse.”

A templar woman who accompanied the king cleared her throat disapprovingly. Senechal Varel let out a chuckle before bowing low. Mhairi quickly followed suit, while Oghren and Anders awkwardly got down on their knee. Wren stood there behind them frozen.

“What darkspawn remain have fled, your Majesty. The grey wardens who had arrived from Orlais have either perished…or disappeared.” Varel explained, standing up straight.

“Missing?” the king gasped. “As in taken by the darkspawn? Do they even do that with wardens?”

“I do not know, your Majesty. I know only that we cannot account for all the wardens. Luckily Warden Commander Tabris arrived just in time.”

Alistair’s eyes found Wren. The way his breath hitched made it clear he felt like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time. She knew the feeling.

“Wren…” he said breathlessly. Gulping, she moved up to the senechal’s side. Her knees felt like they were going to give way.

“Your Majesty.”

Her forced response was like a slap in the face. Alistair composed himself before continuing. He thanked them all for their help, but the warden wasn’t listening; her eyes glazed over and her brain took her somewhere quiet. Ever since being imprisoned by Loghain’s men at Fort Drakon, Wren would often find herself in her quiet place when the real world became too overwhelming.

It was Anders’ sharp yelp that brought her back.

“…The dwarf? I mean, he can be a bit of an arse at times-” Wren heard Alistair say before Anders interjected.

“She means me.”

“This is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!” the templar woman explained, her tone righteous.

“Oh, please!” the mage snorted, “The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble.”

Wren heard him mumble about running away again regardless. The templar growled. She vowed to see him hang before that. The tension in the air was thick enough to chop with a battle axe. Fiery rage snapped inside of Wren, and Alistair could see it. He knew the signs too well.

Not wanting to seem biased, but also not desiring to see an innocent man be put to the chopping block, Alistair pointedly reminded the new warden commander of her recruitment abilities.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Wren hissed. Giving the templar a snarled smile, she looked at Anders. “I hereby conscript this mage into the grey wardens.”

“What? Never!” the templar howled. She took a step towards the mage menacingly. Wren quickly stepped in front of him protectively, but there was no need. The king’s arm in front of the templar made it clear that the wardens were in the right.

“I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no?” he questioned, raising a brow at the holy woman. He looked at Wren and Anders and gave them a nod, “I will allow it.”

The templar begrudgingly accepted her king’s decision and excused herself. It was clear to everyone that she would be an unresolved issue for the future. Anders wanted to thank both Wren and Alistair but couldn’t find the words. Instead the silence was filled with a loud burp.

“And what am I? Chopped nug liver?” Oghren grunted at them. “I came here to join the grey wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra axe!” He spat on the ground and turned to Wren. “So, where’s the giant cup? I’ll gargle and spit!”

“You’re not allowed to spit.” She sighed.

“That’s what I always say!”

Everyone groaned. Varel muttered, “Maker, helps us.”

The seneschal welcomed the king and his men into the keep, encouraging them to stay until the morning but reminding them of obvious carnage inside.

“We would be honoured to be your guest and give aid however we can.” Alistair humbly bowed. Before Wren could escape with her knew group of recruits, the king added, “First, I wish to speak to the commander alone.”

The seneschal nodded and left them, leading the royal guard through the gates. The warden wanted to run like she did six months ago, but this time not look back.

“Wren?”

His voice was soft and almost lost against the howls of the wind and rain. She turned around to face him. The kingly presence was gone, all that was in front of her was the boy she met more than a year ago. It took everything to fight against her nature to touch him, to search for some form of intimacy.

“What do you wish to speak about, your Majesty?” she asked emotionless, avoiding all eye contact.

“Don’t you do that,” he said, his voice cracking. “You don’t call me that.”

She said nothing. Alistair sighed and looked up, letting the rain splatter his face. He moved closer to her, trying to fight the urge to touch her.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Wren was taken aback by the question. What should she say? Her heart is still broken? She’s recovering from giving birth, but she’ll be fine after a glass of wine and a good sleep? Or did he just want to know about the recent battle?

“You know me,” she finally replied, forcing a tight smile. “I’m hard to kill.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She knew he was trying to be kind and show that he still cared, but it was still too much and far too soon for Wren to deal with it. She wanted to be angry with him, hate him even, but it was harder than she thought.

“I have to go.” The warden finally said, tearing herself away from his presence. “You should also get out of the rain.”

With a small bow of her head, Wren left him on the road to his own thoughts.

 

When Alistair thought of future joinings it always made his stomach churn. He knew it would eventually have to happen, but he hated the thought of being reminded that some, if not most, of the warden recruits wouldn’t make it out of the joining. He also felt like he cheated those who had died from it and those who died from doing their duty. His own little ritual with Morrigan enabled him to cheat death. To say he felt guilty watching these new comers stand nervously in front of the Vigil’s seneschal and their new commander was an understatement.

They had all gathered in the keep’s throne room but barred everyone but those who knew about or were a part of the joining. The only light source was from the roaring fireplace behind the thrones.

“Join us, brothers and sisters.” Seneschal Varel recited, holding the old goblet full of darkspawn blood out in front of him. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.”

He handed the cup to Wren who looked down at it with contempt. As commander, she continued the words of joining tradition. “Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” Wren looked over at Oghren, Anders and Mhairi and stressed about who wouldn’t come back. Her eyes locked with Alistair’s before she continued, “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day…we shall join you.”

Hating every step she took towards him, Wren handed the goblet over to Oghren. “From this moment forth, Oghren, you are a grey warden.”

“What’s this? The sampler size?” he growled, “Are you tryna’ say somethin’ about my height, huh?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alistair and Wren tried to stifle a laugh. Varel frowned at the dwarf and huffed, “This is the goblet they’ve always used.”

“Really? Meh.” Oghren scoffed, before chugging half the cup. He belched loudly and smacked his lips. “Not bad.”

The dwarf’s eye rolled to the back of his head and he crashed to the ground. Wren and Alistair rushed to see if their friend had survived.

“Thank the Maker, he’s alive!” Wren sighed in relief. Alistair chuckled and commented, “Well, luckily the drunk bastard has definitely had worse hangovers.”

Wren stood up a took the now half-filled goblet over to Anders. With new found hope, she gave him a smile.

“From this moment forth, Anders, you are a grey warden.”

“So…all we need to do is drink darkspawn blood?” he asked.

“That’s it.” She replied. The mage took the goblet and then eyed his superiors. He warned, “Alright, but if I wake up two weeks from now in a ship bound to Rivain in nothing but my small clothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I’m blaming _you_.”

“That’s fair.”

Anders took a deep breath, closed his eyes and drank a sip. With a yell his eyelids flashed opened, showing only the white of his eyes, before falling conscious on the floor. Alistair felt his pulse.

“He’s alive.”

Wren whispered thanks to whoever was watching over them before turning to Mhairi. The knight stood patiently, ready in waiting for a future she always wanted. The past week had been chaotic at best, and confusing and frustrating at worst, but Mhairi stayed with Wren through it. She was loyal and Wren had grown fond of the young knight.

“From this moment forth, Mhairi, you are a grey warden.”

Mhairi took the goblet, her hand steady. Any fear she may have had was hidden behind excitement.

“I have awaited this moment!” she said proudly. Wren touched her shoulder and gave her a smile.

“I believe in you, Ser Mhairi.”

The knight beamed and took the last of the blood. But something went wrong. The goblet clattered to the marble floor, as Mhairi keeled over clutching her throat. Wren cried out and tried hold her steady. It was useless; her body went limp in seconds and her breathing stopped immediately. She had died.

Wren took Mhairi’s winged helmet off her head, so she could see her face. She was young, probably a year or two younger than her. She was strong. Why didn't she survive?

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” the warden cried, cradling the knight’s body. Alistair came over to Wren and wrapped his arm around her without a word. Over her sobs he heard Varel whisper a prayer for her soul.

 

Wren found it odd crying over a girl she had met within a week. She was fond of Mhairi and had grown used to her being around, but she didn’t think she considered her a friend. Maybe it was the guilt Wren felt for leading her on the path of being a warden. She knew Mhairi admired her for stopping the blight and the civil war, she also knew the girl considered herself her hero. Maybe it was her fault Mhairi died.

“Some fucking hero,” Wren sniffled, curling up on the cushioned windowsill of her new room. Earlier she had been shown to her quarters by a very sombre Seneschal Varel. Apparently, the living quarters of the keep had been mostly untouched by the darkspawn attack, particularly the master bedroom. An uneasy chill hung in the air as Wren entered the room.

“Rendon Howe used to sleep here, didn’t he?” she had asked her guide.

“Yes, Commander.”

The uneasiness grew. Varel said his farewell and had left her to her own devices. That’s how she found herself by the window, contemplating life’s cruel lessons. _A life for a life_ , she thought to herself. _But who’s life condemned Mhairi’s?_ That was just another dark thought to repress.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Wren didn’t need to ask who it was to know; she could feel Alistair outside. Was it the tainted blood, or something more? She never quite knew. The door opened and in he came. He was out of his armour and almost made him look normal. He never looked that normal, though. Not to Wren.

“Oghren and Anders are resting, but they’re okay.” He informed her in a gentle voice. She nodded. Alistair noted that her stuff hadn’t arrived yet. The room felt soulless and cold.

The king moved to sit next to her by the window.

“Thank you for staying with me before.” Wren said quietly. He knew that she was talking about the joining.

"It was nothing," Alistair shrugged. "You would have done it for me."

Minutes passed and they watched the rain continue to beat down on the glass, while thunder cracked overhead.

"Where did you go?" He asked quietly. They looked at each other, and he added, "You just...disappeared after my coronation. Zevran and Sten left with you, and Leliana refused to tell me anything and-"

He stopped himself and took a deep breath. Wren watched him in silence. She owed him no explanation and yet she felt bad for making him stress. But what would she tell him? She was running away from the memory of him because it was too hard to face the truth? Or how about that every shitty thing that she had to go through in a year finally took its toll and almost killed her? Both of those answers didn't even have the fact that she had been pregnant. _He can't know the whole truth_ , Wren decided. It would break him.

"I went travelling, just as I said I would." She half admitted. "We caught a ride with Zevran's friend, Isabela, and she took us to Par Vollen. I saw the other qunari and said good bye to Sten. Then Zev and I followed Isabela back to Llomerryn."

She pushed her sleeve up to show him a tattoo of an intricate tree on her arm. It resembled the vhenedahl back in the alienage. Wren said, "I got it there. It's supposed to remind me of those I lost."

Alistair noticed the scarring of the archdemon burns; it had healed quicker than expected but left the skin papery. She noticed him staring and pushed the sleeve back down. If he was anybody else, Wren would have snapped at him.

"I'm glad you're back then," Alistair murmured, not completely convinced. "I... _Ferelden_ missed you."

She looked at him for a moment, letting his words sink in, before replying in a whisper, "I missed them too."

They sat in silence once more, debating with themselves whether to speak of the druffalo in the room. However, they knew that if they opened those flood gates it wouldn't end. Wren wanted to mention Hope as much as she wanted to hold her in her arms. She wanted to tell him everything that happened in Rivain. She just wanted to unburden herself to him like she used to.

"How does it feel being the Commander of the Grey and the Arlessa of Amaranthine?" Alistair asked quietly. In the light of the moon Wren could see the corners of his mouth slightly turned up in a smirk.

"Oh, peachy," she replied sarcastically, "I can't wait to hear the complaints of me being an elf, and not to mention the death threats that follow them."

Alistair picked at a corner of pealed paint on the window. He said gently, "You'll do fine. You inspire loyalty for doing what you think is right, and you fight for the common people. The nobles might not love you, that's true. But the _people_ will."

"We'll see."

A crash of thunder and lightning rattled the window frame. It lit up the room for an instant, but it was enough for Alistair to admire the woman sitting beside him. She was eighteen turning nineteen when they met, and yet she always felt older than him. She had suffered more since then and it aged her more in kind. He wished he could read her mind to understand what she was going through, so he could at least try to help. He wanted to help her feel young and childish again, because even when they were fighting the blight he could make her act that way. To unwind just for a moment.

"How's being King of Ferelden?" Wren asked him. How could he answer that without tugging at wounds that had barely healed? Could he tell her how lonely it is without wanting to reach out to her?

"Well...I get to eat cheese all day if I want."

She laughed. _That's a start_ , he thought. Wren's face slowly turned down. She asked, "Do you think we made the right choices?"

He didn't answer. That was the question he was trying avoid. What could he say? He never wanted the crown, but Ferelden needed a ruler. And they had sacrificed so much to put him on that throne. Did she want him to admit that he thought it was all in vain? He didn't even know if he believed that anyway.

She nodded to herself, as if she could hear his thoughts. It was a question no one needed an answer to. Instead the two of them continued to sit on the windowsill in silence and watched the storm until late into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

In the past seven years Wren had always imagined different scenarios to how Alistair and she would reconnect; a family dinner night was not one of those scenes. Hope on the other hand never believed she’d ever meet him. It was something she had come to accept, but now that concept had been blown out of the water.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this dressed up since my wedding day.” commented Wren, looking her father up and down as they walked through the streets of Denerim towards the palace. Cyrion wore a silk green tunic with golden embroidered leaves. He even put in the effort to wear perfume that was clearly more expensive than it should have been.

“Well, I’ve set a standard for myself at the palace since becoming the unofficial ambassador for the alienage,” Cyrion replied. He gave her a cheeky wink and added, “Your father is what you would call a ‘fashion icon’.”

That made Wren laugh. Hope held on to her mother’s hand tightly as they passed shady characters who watched from a dark alley. Something wasn’t right about them; she could feel it in her belly, and when that happen something magic related always happened.

“It’s alright, Hope,” Wren cooed, sensing her discomfort. Blaise snuffled the girl’s hand in union to her mistress’ words.

The sun eventually set when the three elves and their hound finally found their way to the Royal Palace’s gates. Two guards gilded in silver armour as bright as a star stood vigilant as they came closer. It was clear to Wren that they had never needed to fight in the gear they were wearing.

“Messer Cyrion,” the taller one greeted. “We didn’t know you would be visiting tonight.”

“No, but my daughter and granddaughter are.” Cyrion explained politely. “You wouldn’t expect an old man to let his family wander the city this dark, would you?”

“No, messer.”

“Good man! I have matters to discuss with the King anyway,” he smiled warmly, “So, would you kindly let us in so we don’t miss dinner? Don’t mind the dog; he’s for our protection.”

The guards bowed their heads and graciously welcomed them in. Wren wondered whether her father did really have something to tell Alistair, or if he really wanted that free meal.

“They were nice,” Hope piped. Cyrion looked down at her and smiled, taking her hand.

“They were, weren’t they?”

“And how did _that_ happen?” Wren questioned, not entirely convinced they’re pleasantries were genuine. Her father shrugged.

“I think they like the fact that one of the common people are close to King Alistair,” he answered after a ponder. “You see, the majority of royal guard are just that; _common_. Elves, humans, even one or two dwarves, all from different parts of Ferelden. Sons and daughters of farmers, merchants, and other backgrounds have pledged themselves to the man that they see as one of them.”

The warden raised her brow in surprise. She said, “I bet the nobles just _loved_ the fact that their kids aren’t involved in King Alistair’s little knights club.”

Cyrion chuckled darkly. “Believe me, we had our fair share of…discussions. After the civil war it was clear that the nation needed a new start. A clean slate. Many of Loghain’s old supporters felt slighted, of course, but the others on the counsel understood.”

They walked through the towering front doors of the palace. Portraits of past rulers of Ferelden graced the walls. The Orlesian invaders that stole the throne for themselves were nowhere to be seen.

Wren’s eyes found King Maric straight away. He was young and handsome with his striking blue eyes and blonde hair. She could see the resemblance between him and his sons. She could only imagine how infuriating he would have been in person if Alistair and Cailan were anything to go by. The thought brought a small chuckle to her lips.

Hope was in awe of the paintings. Her big brown eyes and mouth were wide open at each one.

“Who’s she!” she stopped and pointed at one with a beautiful woman in golden armour almost as golden as her hair. She looked determined and strong. Something about her made Hope think of a dragon, strong and fierce. She looked like she’d do anything to protect what was hers.

“That, my little griffon, is the Rebel Queen Moira Theirin.” Cyrion said in a hushed voice, almost as if in respect. “She was King Maric’s mother and died protecting him from those who betrayed their family.”

Both Hope and Wren admired the portrait. The warden always wondered what Alistair’s grandmother looked like. The stories of her secret reign were Adaia’s favourite and she often used them as bedtime stories for Soris and Wren. Moira Theirin became a hero to Wren too later in life.

Wren looked at Hope and compared her to the picture on the wall. Next to it, she could see the similarities between the old queen and her young daughter. They didn’t share the blonde hair or blue eyes, but it was something about the presence Hope had. Moira inspired loyalty and love everywhere she went. Hope was very much the same.

“C’mon, we’ll be late.” Wren muttered, tugging lightly at her daughter’s hand.

Eventually they found a servant who led them to the dining room. Before entering Hope stopped. Blaise let out a concerned whine.

“Hope, what’s wrong?” her mother asked.

“I’m nervous.”

“There’s nothing be nervous about,” her grandfather countered. Hope frowned at him.

“But how do you _know_ that?” she whimpered. Wren squatted in front of her, so they were eye-to-eye. She took her tiny hands and smiled encouragingly.

“Because Granpapa and I are here with you. Blaise too.” Wren answered. “This night is about you, not them. So, if you want to leave because it’s getting too much, all you gotta’ do is tell us and we’ll run out of there as fast as horses!”

Her daughter let out a little giggle. The warden kissed Hope’s hands and added, “I love you, Hope. Always.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

After taking her mother and grandfather’s hands, the group entered the dining room. Alistair stood up from his chair when they entered.

“You came,” he noted breathlessly. Had he been holding it since Wren had left him in the market square?

“We did.” She replied, taking a deep breath. Blaise let out an excited bark and bounded over to Alistair. The two of them were equally happy to see one another.

“I’ve missed you, old boy!” he smiled, squishing the mabari’s face affectionately. Standing up straight, Alistair came over to them and bowed his head respectively towards Cyrion.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed in return.

“Please don’t call me that, Cyrion.”

“Old habits.” The old elf grinned. Alistair then turned to Wren and Hope. His heart felt like it was beating through his tunic.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” he said softly to Wren. He then lowered his knees to make himself look less intimidating to the young girl hiding behind her leg. Alistair gave her a soft smile. “Are you nervous?” he asked Hope in a staged whisper. “Because I am. I bet you’re pretty brave.”

She nodded, slowly coming out from behind her mother.

“Do you think you could help me be brave too?”

“I think so.” She squeaked. Alistair held out his hand and she took it. They walked over to the balcony window that overlooked the palace gardens and started talking about everything. They asked each other questions like what their favourite colours and food were. Wren watched them both and thought that maybe the scenario she never imagined would actually work.

“Oh! You’ve arrived!” a woman’s voice gasped behind them. She was a tall human woman, with slender features and strawberry blonde hair. Freckles scattered across her face like a paint splatter. Her neck looked longer in the way her golden dress was cut. She reminded Wren of a golden goose.

Everyone turned and those who knew her bowed. Wren had never seen the woman in her life, but she knew exactly who she was. It still didn’t make her bow.

“Ah, yes…” Alistair awkwardly mumbled, walking over to them. Hope curiously followed until she was by her mother’s side again. The king cleared his throat and introduced the woman to Wren and Hope. “And may I introduce to you, Queen Anne.”

“I’m so excited to finally meet you!” Queen Anne beamed. To the warden’s shocking surprise, she gave her a crushing hug. Cyrion tried to hide the grin that tugged at his mouth when he saw the expression on his daughter’s face. Alistair was readying himself for an explosion that didn’t seem to come.

The queen, satisfied with her embrace, pulled away from Wren and turned to Hope who seemed fascinated with the woman.

“And you must be Hope,” she smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“Have you now?” Wren queried, giving the king a look. He avoided her stare.

Before anyone answered another guest arrived. A familiar face to Wren…and possibly foreboding. Her protective instincts kicked into high gear when she came face-to-face with Eamon Guerrin. His grey beard was neatly clipped, and he wore a royal blue tunic with black leather boots.

“It’s been a very long time, Hero,” Eamon smiled, bowing his bead. He looked very tired and was looking older than the last time they saw each other. Wren was reminded of the last conversation they had and it didn’t go well.

“Indeed, it has.” She replied politely. After greeting everyone else in the room, the old man noticed Wren’s protective hold on Hope’s shoulder. Eamon’s eyes widened as he realised who she was. He knelt down to the girl’s level and introduced himself. Wren’s breathing became quick.

“Hello, little one, my name is Eamon.” He said gently.

“I’m Hope.”

“Such a pretty name,” Eamon commented with a smile. “I’m sure you live up to it.”

Standing up, he came eye-to-eye with her mother. While Wren looked like a lioness who was ready to pounce, Eamon gave her a look of…apology? They were definitely going to have a discussion later.

Feeling the tension in the air, Alistair cleared his throat again uncomfortably and suggested they sit down for dinner. As they waited for the food to be ready to serve other guests arrived. Some were nobles who Wren vaguely remembered from the Landsmeet and coronation. Others were knights who Alistair had clearly grown fond of. When food finally arrived the room that was once cloaked in awkward tension melted and filled with warm boisterous chatter.

Cyrion spoke with Queen Anne happily, but Wren sat eating in silence. Hope snuck food under the table to Blaise. Many the knights asked Wren questions about the blight, about being a warden…and about Amarathine. She tried to answer their daunting questions to the best of her abilities without making a scene. Luckily, they stayed away from asking where she had been the past seven years. Alistair watched her intensely as she did this, as if he was drinking her in as much as he could before he would be forced to look away.

Wren asked Eamon where Lady Isolde was. “I’m surprised she isn’t here tonight.” She mused, taking a sip of wine.

“My wife…is visiting Connor.” He answered quietly. The jovial chatting sobered. Eamon took in a deep breath and added, “After what’s happened in Kirkwall recently, she felt it necessary to go see him.”

“Oh, those poor people.” The queen murmured sympathetically. Wren had recently heard from one of the town criers about the chantry explosion in Kirkwall. Mages against templars against civilians in the streets. Demons everywhere. Only the city’s champion was able to stop it all. She never did find out who caused the chaos...

“What did you expect from a city filled to the brim with _mages_.” A balding, old noble sneered. There was a sharp intake of air from one of the guests. Eamon’s knuckles turned white as he balled them into fists. Hope could feel the bubbles of magic pop inside of her like boiling water. 

“You’re right,” Alistair said, cutting through awkward silence. Everyone’s eyes snapped to him in surprise. “I saw for myself what was being done in Kirkwall and it was barbaric. It was city that was not only ‘filled to the brim’ with mages and mage sympathisers, but also controlled by someone who _abused_ their power over them.” He stared at the noble coolly. “I’m surprised that there wasn’t an uprising sooner.”

“That’s…that’s not what I meant-”

“I knew _exactly_ what you meant, Bann Ceorlic.”

The man gulped and lowered his head. In that moment everyone saw the King of Ferelden.

Dinner ended fairly quickly after that discussion, but the night wasn’t over. They all left the dining room to enter the gardens where wine and ale from all over Thedas were waiting for them. An assortment of cheeses, breads and fruit were served on silver platters. Everyone was pulled into the celebrating mood once again.

“Mama, can I go look at the water?” Hope asked, excitedly pointing at the water feature centred in the middle of the garden.

“Okay but ask Granpapa to go with you and Blaise.” Wren answered. She watched her daughter and dog scamper towards Cyrion who looked happy to oblige. As she watched her family enjoy themselves by the water, Queen Anne sidled over. She offered Wren a goblet of something with an encouraging smile.

“Quite a party you got going on here, your Majesty,” the warden praised, taking the cup. “I’m surprised you’d want us here for it.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re family!” the queen replied. Seeing the questionable look on Wren’s face made her stop and rethink what she just said. In a small embarrassed voice, she said, “Oh no. I’m sorry. That was very forward of me. Alistair tells me I speak faster than I think sometimes, and it’s hard for my head to keep up.”

“It’s okay,” Wren replied, slightly amused. “You just…caught me off guard.”

The woman blushed and downed her goblet so fast Wren didn’t have time to blink.

“Call me Anne,” she gasped after the last drop was swallowed. She held out her hand informally. Wren took it.

“Call me Wren.”

Ever since she heard the announcement of the royal marriage, Wren had demonised the thought of the new Queen of Ferelden. She was her rival, the one that was allowed to take her place by Alistair’s side. Wren often imagined her as some rude, entitled highborn that cared for nothing but the spotlight of the throne. It made it easier for her to hate her that way. But now she could see that she was wrong; the queen was a woman just out of girlhood who was a kind but nervous wreck. Anne was very much the gender swapped version of Alistair, and that made it even harder for Wren to continue with her awful thoughts about her.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you since our wedding night,” Anne drunkenly slurred, wistfully watching Hope, Blaise and Cyrion splash in the fountain. The two women had moved to a marble bench away from the patio full of guests.

“You do realise how weird that sounds, right?” Wren snorted.

“I know, I know,” the queen sighed. She looked at the warden and smiled. “That night he told me about you. _Everything_ about you. About how you met, how you helped him after Duncan, his feelings for you.”

Wren could feel the heat reach her face and her heart race a mile. “But why?” she asked quietly.

“Because he loved you and he _still_ loves you.” Anne said simply. She shrugged and drank some more of her newly filled cup. “I was eighteen when we were married. He was four years older than me and I feared the worst. I don’t know why, everyone knew he was kind, but he was the king and _nobody_ refuses the king.”

She looked into her wine and continued. “I was scared about what would happen after the ceremony and banquet, but oddly enough I could see he was too. That night…we just talked. Or rather, _I_ talked. I told him about the boy I grew up with and had to leave behind. The boy I fell in love with. Alistair related, so he spoke of you…and the letter about Hope.”

The woman Wren had despised for so many years without provocation had shown herself to be one of the most accepting people she had ever met. Anne gave Wren a smile and patted her knee.

“I knew I could never replace you, Wren,” she explained, “Just as he knew he could never do the same with my Brandon.”

“I don’t know what to say,” the warden whispered honestly. She was trapped in an odd bubble of emotion; she didn’t want to run away like most times but didn’t want to stay either. So, what did she want?

“Say nothing.” Anne sighed, swaying sightly as she stood up from her seat. She turned to Wren. “I hope in time we can call each other friends.”

“I would like that.”

“Lovely! Now, I have to excuse myself because I think I’m about to vomit.”

Wren watched the queen stumble away into the garden, while two servants hurried after her. It was an odd night that was for sure. Wren was now too deep in thought about what Anne had told her, though. Putting her feelings for Alistair behind her was one of the hardest things she's had to do, keeping them behind her was even harder after seeing him for the first time in years. Now it felt impossible.

Shaking away her drunken anxiety, the warden left the bench and started wandering the garden. She headed for the fountain, but her family weren’t there. Thinking they had moved to another big feature of the garden, Wren wandered down a path that was like a tunnel with the arches of ivy overhead. At the end of it there was a statue of a griffon with red roses circling the base. She expected Hope to be gushing over it with Cyrion. Instead she found Alistair sitting on a bench alone, staring up at the statue. He jumped when he saw her watching him.

“I’ve barely seen you all night,” he murmured, watching her come over and sit beside him. He half grinned, “I thought you were avoiding me.”

Wren laughed and elbowed him. A part of her wondered why she suddenly felt so comfortable around him. Was it the alcohol, him, or the new information swimming around in her head?

“Nah, just been talking to your wife,” she replied. His smile dropped a little, preparing for the worse. Wren sighed. “I like her. Didn’t think I would, but I do.”

Wren thought about mentioning what they had talked about. She wanted to know his reasoning, even thought she didn't know what she would gain from it. It was hard not to speak her mind when a hurricane brewed inside of it.

He smiled to himself. “I like our daughter.”

Those words struck Wren like a lightning bolt. _Our daughter_. They were a simple string of words that meant so many things all at once.

“She’s so like you.” Alistair continued, staring up at the stars. “The way she talks about things, she’s so full of love and wonder…I didn’t spend that much time alone with her, but I could still see it. See you.”

Wren watched him gush over Hope. She once again questioned whether it was the alcohol or something else making her feel a certain way, because a hunger growled within her. It was a hunger she had tried to discourage for so long. And then he looked at her and time stopped. In that moment something greater than them took over.

When time started again and her lips had found his...and Alistair was just as hungry for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely feedback! It has definitely helped get me through the harder parts of rewriting this chapter.
> 
> *the last scene was unintended, but then I started listening to Florence + The Machine's new song Hunger...and it just happened. I think it captures what I wrote within the chapter, particularly the first half. Wren yearns for the safety of her new recruits and the company of Alistair (even when she shouldn't). Alistair, like Wren, misses their relationship and wants it back, even if it's just the friendship. Mhairi wants the honour of being a warden, Anders wants freedom, Hope wants a dream she never thought would be reality, and Anne wants harmony.


	4. Runaway Baby

_9:31 Dragon, eight months after the blight_

 

Wren watched the angry mob come closer towards Vigil’s Keep from her bedroom window. Their torches were like little moving stars crawling across the valley cloaked in the setting sun’s shadow. Hope wiggled around in her crib, as if she could sense the unease of the situation.

What caused the angry mob? Amaranthine’s destruction. The Mother’s darkspawn attacked the city, but when the commander and her wardens came to fight them one of the Architect’s followers warned them of the Mother’s trick. She had soldiers marching towards the keep. In that moment Wren felt trapped; her instincts were telling her to save both, but her fear was dragging her back to Ostagar. If she chose to save the city there would be a chance she’d lose the keep and the wardens she now considered family that stayed behind. She didn’t want to be alone again.

Making one of the hardest decisions she had faced, the warden commander turned her back on Amaranthine and her people. Trying to convince herself that no one was left alive behind those walls, Wren had the city destroyed…

Blaise whined and paced towards his mistress. He could feel the tension too. The fear of those desperate people storming the gates and into the castle was strong. Wren knew what it was like to be on the other side, and she knew that armoured men and women wouldn’t stop them. Particularly as they were all recovering from the past attack.

“We have to get ready,” Wren decided, looking down at her hound. “We can’t stay here.”

She quickly packed everything she could into her old rucksack. Before starting on her armour, Wren sat down at her desk. With a deep breath she wrote one letter to the King’s Counsel and a private letter to the king himself. It surprised her how easy it was to pour everything into her personal letter to Alistair. Stamping the wax seal on both letters, the warden moved away from the desk and started putting on her armour. Once finished she readied Hope for travel.

The sight of their commander dragging her things down to the main hall brought outcry from the other wardens.

“So you’re just leaving?” Sigrun growled. The dwarf was usually a lot sunnier towards Wren, but after finding out she let the Architect live she had been holding a grudge. Justice was also feeling the same towards her for similar reasons.

“What happened to sticking together and facing the storm?” Nathaniel scowled. If he hadn’t been there at the keep when it was attacked for the second time, he would have joined the mob outside. Amaranthine was his home once and they were his people. The man pointed towards the door and said, “They’re here for you, Commander. They’re hurting and you need to fix it otherwise everything we’ve done was for nothing!”

“I know this, Howe. Better than anyone.” Wren finally replied. Her voice was stern and steady. It commanded respect from her wardens who looked away from her piercing gaze. Oghren was the only one who held her stare.

“Then what’s the plan, Warden?”

Wren handed a bundled-up Hope to Old Mag, who had followed her down the stairs. The commander then looked at her little group. She had plucked them from bad places and gave them a home and purpose. Because of that she cared for them all like a mother. And now she had to leave them because she was one.

“I go out there and speak to them.” Wren finally said.

“They’ll kill you as soon as you step out the door!” Anders protested. She smiled, as if in saying ‘they can certainly try’. The commander moved to Nathaniel and handed him her two letters.

“Send these to Denerim.”

“What are they?” He asked, looking at them.

“My letter of resignation for the counsel and another for the king.”

They all started yelling at her once more. They didn’t want her to leave, regardless of the choices she had made. They wanted her to stay with them and help them through it.

“We all had our own reasons for joining the Order,” Velanna finally piped up. Her voice wasn’t as cold and sharp as it usually was. “But, Commander, we stayed for you!”

“I know,” Wren replied, her voice apologetic. “And I made decisions to protect you instead of doing my duty as Commander of the Grey Wardens. I let innocents die, and now I’m paying for it. I’ve endangered you regardless and I’ve endangered my daughter’s life.”

She looked over at Hope. “I’m not fit to be your commander. I need to look out for my daughter now.”

Turning away from her wardens, Wren spoke to Old Mag. She told her to take the basement tunnel to escape the keep with Hope and Ian, telling her she would meet them later at her friend’s farm house. Blaise would once again go with them.

Servants followed the old woman with blankets and food down into the basement. The warden watched them until the door closed. Another servant quickly left to ready her a horse.

“Are you ready for the shitstorm?” Oghren asked Wren when they finally left to address the mob. She didn’t answer.

The commander and her wardens followed her out onto the ramparts. It was a heartbreaking sight; men who had lost limbs bellowed, women who had lost children howled, and children who had lost everything begged up at the arlessa. In their eyes, Wren had become the thing she hated most – a tyrant.

“You let our homes and families burn!”

“Maker curse you!”

“Down with the Grey Wardens!”

They clawed the walls and gate, as if they had a chance to grab at the commander. She took a shuddering breath and called out to the mourning people she had turned her back on. “I know you blame the wardens for the destruction of Amaranthine,” Wren started, trying to raise her voice above everyone else. “I know you blame them for everything you lost, but it’s not their fault.”

“You chose to save the keep instead of protect the city!” a man cried out. A chorus of agreement arose.

“You’re right, I did!” she agreed. “But my men and women didn’t. I’m their commander, their superior. I made the decision to leave the city and I have been haunted by that choice every Maker damned day!”

“Do you think that makes us sympathise with you?” another cried out. Wren shook her head.

“No. I don’t expect forgiveness or trust by any of you, because I don’t deserve it.” She took another breath and continued, “Because of this I have made the decision to step down immediately. Warden Nathaniel Howe will take up my mantel as Commander of the Grey and arl of Amaranthine in the meantime.”

Nathaniel and the crowd roared at her decision.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, forcing her took look at him. He wasn’t enraged, but scared. Wren gave him a small smile of encouragement. She continued to address the boisterous mob below.

“He is reliable and loyal to Amaranthine and her people. It’s his home and family as much as the wardens and this keep are. He is not his father, and that is why I trust him and hope that in time he regains your trust in kind.”

As the crowd below continued to yell unintelligible things, the other wardens followed Wren back into the keep. Nobody said a word as they walked, but they didn’t have to. Things had changed and nobody knew if it were for the better.

“Make sure the survivors out there are given aid,” Wren murmured to Garevel, the newly appointed seneschal. He nodded and left the group to share their final goodbyes.

“Why did you do that?” Nathaniel asked again desperately. Wren touched his cheek gently and gave him a small smile.

“Because I believe in you, Nate,” she answered. “I came here to rebuild the wardens and then stayed to stop the Mother. I’ve done both, and now I’m outstaying my welcome.”

She hugged him and he hugged her back, holding her tighter than he thought he ever would. To think he once wanted her dead, but then again she did say some of her closest friends had wanted the same at some point. Wren pulled away and turned to the others. She wished them well before giving them some parting advice.

“If at any point you find it hard to follow the Order’s rules concept of duty, don’t feel obligated to listen to them. They’ve forgotten how it is in the real world and outside their own fucking country. They’ve forgotten to follow their humanity. So…fight for what you believe in and don’t be afraid to rebel a little from time to time, because sometimes protecting humanity means getting your hands dirty and fighting for it even when nobody wants you too.”

They let her words sink in. Anders looked enlightened. Oghren was the only one to follow Wren to her readied horse that once belonged to the fallen recruit, Mhairi.

“You know what you’re doin’, Warden?” the dwarf asked his friend. He looked concerned. Wren pulled herself up onto the horse, Max, and adjusted herself accordingly.

“I never do,” she smiled meekly, looking over at him. “But I know I now have a new responsibility that goes beyond the wardens. I think you of all people can understand that.”

He chuckled. “Aye, I do,” Oghren replied with a knowing look. “And it ain’t easy whatever you choose.”

A month before the attack on Amaranthine Oghren confided in Wren about his ex, Felsi, being pregnant. Things were rough between the two dwarves, but they managed to smooth things out with the commander’s help. Since then Oghren and Wren had multiple discussions about his future child and her own; what would their future be like if their parents weren’t grey wardens? Would it be better or worse?

“Look after them for me, Oghren,” Wren requested.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout them, Commander. They’ll be safe as a priest’s virginity!”

“That includes you,” she added. “I don’t want Felsi to hunt me down because her kid never got to see their papa.”

He smiled at the thought. They said their goodbyes and prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time they would see each other. Wren rode out the back gate and never returned to Vigil’s Keep.

 

A year passed in Thedas after the Hero of Ferelden disappeared once again. In that year King Alistair Theirin found a bride within the young girl, Anne Ryder, from a minor noble family of the Hinterlands. The Hero of Ferelden’s name became infamous; she was revered for stopping the blight and civil war, but she was also hated for being the commander who protected the Order first, while the city of Amaranthine burned. It was hard work, but the new Warden Commander of Ferelden, Nathaniel Howe, managed to rebuild not only the grey wardens’ image but his family’s too. However, in the process he lost two friends to disagreement with the new wardens that filled their ranks; Anders left the Order claiming it had changed since their old commander left and Justice followed the mage out the gates. Not long after the city of Kirkwall in the Free Marchers became a hot spot for Ferelden refugees, one in particular rose from her position of poverty and reclaimed her mother’s nobility, bringing honour back to the Amell name while building up her own. Little did they all know that their actions would mould the future in such a way that their paths would all meet at vital points of their lives, one by one…

 

* * *

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

It had been almost a week since the dinner party at the royal palace. Since then Hope had been to and from the royal grounds with her grandfather and spent what time she could with Alistair. She was enjoying her visits there, but her mother wandered around the alienage in a panic, contemplating what her next move would be. The desire to run from her mistakes was so strong Wren decided to start packing her bags while Hope and her father were out.

In amidst the chaos of her own thoughts and the frantic searching of clothes, Wren didn’t hear the bedroom door open.

“What are you doing?” she heard Shianni ask behind her. The elf stood in the door way, glaring at her cousin with wide eyes. Blaise barged his way through to have a look at what was going on too.

“Just leave me alone,” Wren muttered, picking up one of Hope’s shirts. “Let me do this.”

Shianni stormed in and snatched the piece of clothing from her hands. Her eyes were brimming with angry tears. “To do what? Run away again?”

“You don’t understand-”

“No, I don’t understand!” she yelled, “You don’t talk to me anymore, Wren!”

The two elves glared at each other as the hound whined at the tension. They both knew the other wouldn’t backdown and, if need be, wasn’t afraid to get a little rough. It was these moments that proved they shared the same hot-headed blood. They were more like sisters as their mothers were than cousins.

“I know you’ve been through hell and back and seen shit that I can’t even begin to imagine…but don’t shut me out again!” Shianni begged, her voice hitching. “Talk to me to me like you used to before it all happened. Don’t run away just when you’ve come back to me.”

Wren stood there uncomfortably, refusing to look her baby cousin in the eye. This infuriated Shianni further. She flung her arms up in the air and let out a scream. Turning to her cousin again, the younger elf hissed, “You are the worst! You’ll lecture everyone about facing their fears and being strong, but you’re just as bad, if not worse.”

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion or your help, anyway.” Wren snapped back.

“No, you didn’t and look at what you’re doing, cousin. You’re running away. _Again._ ”

Shianni grabbed the bag filled with half folded clothes and upturned it. Wren flew into a rage, which her cousin ignored.

“Do you know what it was like not having you here after the wedding?” she asked, yelling over Wren’s outcries. “I was going through shit just like you are now, but I didn’t have you. I didn’t have someone who I trusted unconditionally and was willing to listen! And then when the war was over, I thought you’d come back and help me then, but you didn’t. I didn’t even get a letter from you personally until Hope was five! And she was already sending her own letters to us at that point.”

The room stood silent. Wren sat awkwardly in the pile of clothes, listening to her cousin cry.

“You didn’t just run away from whatever things you went through dealing with the blight, you ran away from everyone who loved you. Uncle Cyrion can forgive you for that, but I can’t…I can’t forgive you for not trusting us to look after you. For all we knew you were dead. I even put your old beads up in the Vhenadahl.”

Since the day she wrote her first letter to Shianni and Soris, Wren had been waiting for the explosion that didn’t seem to follow in their letters back. She knew everything she did, or more rightly, didn’t do was horrible but she couldn’t seem to do anything different. How do you explain that something in your head stopped you without it seeming like an excuse or whispers of a demon? Maybe it was a demon just not of a literal kind. Either way, it felt as though each time she came close to doing the right thing an invisible chain held her back.

“I’m scared, Shianni.” Wren eventually whispered. All the rage and frustration drained from her cousin. Shianni knelt down to Wren’s level and held her hands.

“Then talk to me about it.”

Shianni didn’t interrupt as Wren unloaded everything; the war, Amaranthine, Hope, Alistair…the kiss. It unravelled like a ball of twine. The two cousins, who were sisters in bond, held each other in silence. They watched the dust moats float around the little room lazily.

“What do I do?” Wren finally spoke.

“Well, definitely don’t run away to Antiva.” Shianni replied in a joking tone. She sighed. “You need to talk to Alistair and actually deal with this.”

The warden groaned. _Easier said than done._

 

 

Hope could still remember when she was four and living in a shack with her mother. She didn't know where they were, but she knew that it was so cold that in winter if you left a cup of water out overnight, a thin layer of ice would form on the top of the water.

In her time living there she would only ever be routinely visited by her self-proclaimed 'Uncle Zevran' and the strange merchant who would come to them knowing they'd trade. Hope never liked the merchant and how his eyes hungrily watched her and Wren. He felt...bad. He made the magic in her body squirm just like when a great bear wandered too close to their home. There were also the glowing eyes she would see at night in the tall trees that protected their home like a wall. The eyes would disappear in the day but would come back every night. Her mother said that they had followed them from home to home since Hope was born.

The only correspondence the elves had were in letters sent and delivered by a raven Hope named Patches for the abnormal white splotches on one of her wings. Patches would often deliver letters for Wren and all of them she'd read and respond to in private. Hope would receive letters from her grandfather, who she had never met in person at that time but loved dearly. She would also receive gifts from her ‘Uncle Zevran’ and stories of his adventures when he couldn't deliver them in person.

One day Patches delivered her clutch of mail, including one for Hope from Cyrion. After tucking away an envelope with a blue griffon seal, Wren returned to help her daughter read her letter.

"...always...th-"

"'Thinking'," Wren encouraged. Hope screwed her little face up in concentration.

"Always thinking of you...Ly...Little Griff-on," Hope finished, "Love Grand-pah-pah."

"Good job, baby!" Her mother grinned, giving her a big kiss on the side of her head. Blaise gave her a supportive bark and Patches cawed in agreement. As she watched her mother clean up what was left of breakfast on the kitchen table, Hope had a very strange thought. "Does Grandpapa live in Patches' nest?"

"What? Of course not," Wren laughed, washing a plate in a bucket of hot soapy water. "What makes you think that?"

Hope shrugged. "He's always in the letters, but I don't ever see him. Uncle Zevran sends me letters, but I see him sometimes."

Her mother stopped washing the plate. She debated whether or not it was the best time to tell her daughter the truth. Looking at Hope, Wren took a deep breath and decided.

"Granpapa doesn't live in a nest. He lives in...in a little town called the Alienage in the city, Denerim." She tried to explained. "I grew up there when I was little like you."

After a minute of deep thought, Hope asked, "Does Papa live there too?"

"No," Wren answered, her face dropping. "He lives in a castle nearby."

"Like a king?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Another minute passed of deep thought. Wren waited with bated breath for more questions she wasn't sure she was ready to answer. She would tell her regardless, but the unknown outcome was what frightened her. Instead Hope nodded and said, "Okay. Can I go feed Max now?"

"Yeah, of course," Wren replied, shocked at the simple acceptance from her daughter.

To Hope it was easy to accept. It had been her life and it didn’t make sense to her to question it further, even later when Wren confided who her father really was. However, after finally meeting her family in person the questions she learnt to push aside and accept that it would go unanswered, came bubbling back up to the surface.

As she walked in between her grandfather and the man she was slowly referring to as ‘Papa’, she held their hands tightly just in case she woke up and realised it was all a dream. The two adults spoke with each other with gentle tones. They spoke about the alienage, something about the All Soul’s Day festival, and Alistair then started to express his concern for the Circle of Magi.

“I don’t know what I’ll do when the fire hits our shore,” he admitted.

“Do you think it will reach us?” Cyrion queried. The king gave him a dry chuckle.

“Do you think it won’t? The Chantry is not one to cross, but the mages have generations of reasons to do so. They don’t fear the backlash as much as they should. You would be a fool to think that firestorm wouldn’t spread to us.”

Hope knew of these things, particularly the Circle. Her mother taught her everything she could to protect her from the mage hunters. She knew of how most mages were treated with fear and disdain like elves. Hope had many things to fear from the world and being a half elf mage was just two of them.

The three of them moved to a smaller garden that was filled with vegetable patches. Some of them even had fruits like grape vines, mulberry bushes and apple trees. A chicken coop had been built along the big stone castle walls, along with a dog house for the hound that protected the birds and crop. Clothes lines held vibrant clothes and soft sheets from the palace, and servants bustled around tending to things like laundry, feeding the hens, and watering the humongous pumpkins growing for the festival. All of them stopped to happily greet the ambassador and their king.

Even though the bigger garden that they had visited previously was grander, there was something about this one that pulled Hope in. It was full of life in such a small space. It reminded her of the alienage, but cleaner. It didn’t take long for her to run off to look at everything.

Cyrion chuckled at his granddaughter’s enthusiasm. Alistair smiled.

“I’ve thought about days like this ever since reading that letter. Just spending time with Hope…” he murmured to the old elf. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance.”

“Many don’t have that opportunity, and if I’m being honest,” Cyrion said, looking at him with his steel blue eyes. “I didn’t think my daughter would give you it.”

And if Alistair was honest with himself he didn’t believe he deserved that chance either. At first, he was so angry at Wren for telling him about their child in a letter and that when he was with her at Vigil’s Keep she acted as though it hadn’t happened. At that time, he had already come to terms with the fact that he would never meet his first child, so to have another taken away was a kick in the gut. After some time, he came to the realisation that she was scared. He felt guilty for his rage and jealousy. Just like the first time, he accepted that he would never meet his daughter, but it hurt more because it was Wren who was taking that away from him.

After a moment of silent pondering, Alistair quietly asked Cyrion how Wren was. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the party and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking of their kiss ever since.

“She’s…bad again.” The ambassador tried to explain. “I don’t know exactly why, but I think the past week has been a lot to take in a very small period of time.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Cyrion sighed and gave him a smile. “My boy, I don’t think there’s anything anyone could do but give her time to breathe.” He saw Alistair frown and put a hand on his shoulder. “If you feel like doing something that may help, be her friend again if you can. Talk to her.”

While Alistair debated whether facing possible death and embarrassment was the correct path to take, Hope helped one of the servants collect eggs from the coop. The man she was with was a human with dark hair. One of his ears had been mangled by something and left a gruesome scar that went across his cheek down to his jaw. He looked family despite his gnarled features.

"You must be a special girl to be able to walk around with King Alistair and Ambassador Cyrion." The man commented, placing two eggs in the basket she held.

"Grandpapa says I’m special too," she replied. "He keeps telling me we're lucky to be so close with the king."

The man raised a brow. "Your Grandpapa is the ambassador? Interesting... And what of your father?"

Hope eyed the man. Something about what he said and how he said it sparked her warning bell, lighting the magic within her. It bubbled gently in her fingers and chest. The kind man with the scar didn't feel as genuine as he did before. She could hear her mother's voice in her head telling her to always be wary of those around her. Hope did just that; familiar faces from the Alienage were there minding their own business, but there were those who weren't so familiar who's eyes lingered on her. Some elves, some human. Hope became very aware of the scarred man's gaze.

"I have to go now." She squeaked, picking up the basket full of eggs. It was heavy but not as heavy as the feeling of dread in her stomach.

The man grabbed her wrist. He spoke in a calm voice. "Do not fear, child. We don't wish to harm you. We are here to watch like we have always done...until it's time to do otherwise. Remember this."

He let go of her but his eyes did not. Hope walked away so fast she felt like she was sprinting. Her heart was hammering as loud as the man's foreboding words. _Remember this_ , he said. How could she ever forget?

She was so rattled she didn't hear Cyrion call her name. She put the basket down by the kitchen entrance just before Alistair touched her shoulder, making her jump out of her skin.

"Are you alright, Little Griffon?" Her grandfather asked worriedly. She gulped and forced a nod.

"I saw a spider." Hope lied. "It...it fell on me. I don't like spiders."

Alistair chuckled. He gave her a nod and said, "I know the feeling."

The three of them left the servant's garden together, but Hope felt as though what had just happened would haunt her for a while.

 

 

It was late evening when Hope and Cyrion returned home with their surprise guest, a cloaked King Alistair. The sky was a mix of deep red, purple and blue, and stars were starting to twinkle like tiny diamonds. The alienage wasn't quiet, but it wasn't as busy and boisterous as it usually was in the day time. Elves were trailing back from the city from their jobs as servants, maids, shopkeepers, and other colourful employments. Most were happy to be back home safe within the walls of the alienage, all were exhausted.

Before Cyrion could even touch the doorknob, the front door opened. Shianni was there to greet them with a scowl.

"'Bout time you showed up," she chided, "Dinner's going cold."

"My apologies, that was my fault." Alistair spoke up. Shianni's eyes widened at the sight of him for a second and gave him a huff. She let them in, keeping an eye on the king.

Cyrion and Hope sat down to their readied bowls at the dining table. Shianni was right; it was once a hot bowl of stew, but was now a lukewarm goopy mess. "I'm afraid we didn't make enough for guests," she said, still staring at the human man in her house.

"That's alright," he replied, looking at the stew slop back into the bowl from Hope’s spoon. "I was hoping I could speak to Wren."

She raised a brow but seemed unsurprised. Cocking her head to the side she let out a shriek for her cousin. Unfazed, Wren and Blaise came down the stairs. The old mabari was excited to see everyone and barked happily at their return. His mistress didn't show as much enthusiasm.

"Papa, you should have told us you were going to be late," Wren finally spoke, keeping her eyes away from Alistair. She made her way to Hope, kissing the top of her head.

"We lost time talking about improvements for the alienage's school and party arrangements for the All Soul’s Day festival," Cyrion explained, "I'm sorry, my girls."

Before Wren could reply Alistair interrupted. "Wren, can we speak for a moment?"

The cousins shared a look before she agreed. The warden took a breath and motioned him to follow her upstairs.

"I want you ready for a bath when you're finished there," Wren ordered Hope who was stuffing her face with bread. The little girl nodded glumly.

As they walked up the flight of stairs Alistair was reminded of how long it had been since he had seen inside the Tabris house. The last time he was there the alienage was being rebuilt, but back then the house wasn't even a house. It was a wreckage. He remembered Wren's cousins and the local shopkeeper hauling out the old dining table that seemed to be untouched by rubble and flame. Now it was a home again with help from his own influence.

Wren led him into a bedroom. It had two beds and one bedroll underneath the open window looking out over the alienage and the rest of Denerim. A stuffed griffon that had clearly been loved for a long time sat on one of the beds. Children's drawings of Blaise, horses and ravens covered parts of the wall it was pressed up against. One of the drawings had two elves, one shorter than the other, holding hands. 'Mama and Me' were messily written above their heads.

Noticing a trail of clothes that led to one of the beds, Alistair saw an empty travelling bag on top of the mattress. He didn't say a word but he feared what it may have occurred earlier and what it meant for the future of the discussion they were about to have.

"D'you still remember how to climb, or has that throne of yours screwed with your balance?" Wren taunted, a hint of a smile on her lips. She had a foot perched on the window pane ready to lift her out.

"No, I just have my servants lift me up to high places." He retorted jokingly. "Of course, I know how to climb, Wren!"

"Good. Then keep up and follow me."

He watched her slip out of the window and heard a light thud on roof tiles. Ducking his head out he saw her waiting not far below. When he hauled himself out his landing wasn't as smooth; Wren quickly grabbed his wrist before he lost his balance and toppled over the side of the roof.

"That could have gone horribly! Thanks." Alistair gasped. She gave him a nod and continued on her unconventional path. He followed her up a ladder to the flat roof of the second storey. He saw a blanket and some candles had already been left out. Books of different topics were stacked on top of each other, and a whetstone sat with a polishing rag. It reminded him of Wren's old den she had before the war. It has once belonged to her mother before her.

"Why come up here?" Alistair panted, looking around.

"It's less likely that we'll be snooped on up here." She replied. "Plus...it's calming."

He couldn't deny that. It was oddly soothing to see his city from far away. Her house wasn't the tallest building in the alienage but it was positioned in a way that allowed a view of everything. They sat down on the blanket and watched the sky turn dark.

"Why haven't we spoken about that night?" He finally asked. Wren let out a dry bark of laughter. _What night does he speak of_ , she wondered for there had been many that needed a discussion afterwards.

"I was scared, Alistair. It destroyed what I've been trying to force away," she tried to explain. "I betrayed myself and everything we sacrificed when I kissed you."

He was quiet before he softly replied, "I kissed you back."

"And that makes it worse!"

They sat in silence again. Alistair wanted to hold her hand, to convince her everything would turn out right. It was strange to feel this way after so many years feeling as though he was going through a drought of emotion. He remembered it being easier with her, granted that was before she had faced monsters darker than anyone could imagine. He knew how this new Wren was created for he was forced to watch and he loved her regardless, but he still missed the old one too just as he missed his own old self.

"We made a promise to one another, Alistair." Wren murmured. "And it kills me every waking moment to follow it, but I keep my word. Whatever happened the other night needs to be forgotten."

"Why do we have to forget it?" He asked, looking at her. She shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't know, to make it easier?"

She stood up and wrapped her arms around her body. In a broken voice she said, "I wanted to run away today. I almost did. But Shianni stopped me, and the thought of Hope did too. It was easier before, because she never met anyone other than Zevran and he always found us anyway. I couldn't keep him away even if I tried. And now...it's the same with my family and you."

Wren turned to Alistair. She had the look of a broken woman, and it made him jump to his feet. He couldn't stop himself from touching her arms in hopes that it would comfort her.

"I will do what you ask, for Hope's sake." He agreed, although it broke him to say it. Managing a half-hearted smile, Alistair added, "Just don't shut me out, Wren. Please?"

Unable to promise anything, Wren forced a smile back. None of what had just happened was something that either of them wanted, but for their daughter's safety and wellbeing they were willing to sacrifice the world if need be.

 

 

Hope stared at the soap suds that glistened in the candle light. The tub was warm and smelt of lavender oil. As her mother rinsed soap out of her hair, Hope looked at her reflection; she looked paler than usual, as if she had seen a ghost. She feared the words of the scarred man. What did he mean _'until it's time'_? Why did it feel foreboding? A part of her hoped it was some elaborate surprise her family had set up, but the other, deeper part of her knew better.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Wren asked, bringing her out of deep thought. "You look worried."

Deciding to trust in her mother, Hope told her what happened. She spoke of the man with the scar who asked too many intruding questions. She told Wren of his parting words and the watchful eyes of his friends.

"Did you tell anyone?" Wren asked, suddenly tense. Hope shook her head. Turning her body around to look at her mother, she saw the familiar anxiety in the woman's face.

Hope quietly asked, "Were they the Yellow Eyes?"

Wren knew she meant the constant cluster of watchful eyes that followed them for years. What her daughter didn't know was that the warden had been followed by them since before Hope had been born. Once, Wren even tried to face them but faced nothing but the shadows. After a time under the gaze it was clear that they were no harm to Wren and yet they still made her uneasy. What were they waiting for? Even before she knew she was pregnant, Wren had been told by an old Rivaini seer to fear them and watch out for they were eyes of doom.

“If they were,” Wren finally replied, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “You were incredibly brave for facing them and keeping control of your powers.”

She kissed Hope’s forehead to hide the fear on her face. This was not the last time they would see or hear of from the watchers, and Wren feared what they would eventually choose to do when they decided it was time for action.

Wren readied herself for that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Been pretty hectic lately. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and like always I'd love your feedback!


	5. All These Things That I Have Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: failed suicide warning

_9:31, one month after the blight’s end_

Llomerryn was warmer than usual, or maybe it was all the whiskey Wren had downed. She wasn’t sure. Tattooed sailors cheered as she vomited over the dock and into the water. It wasn’t the first time she had done that and at the rate she was going at, it wouldn’t be the last. _I wish it would be_ , a dark voice in her head whispered.

“Another one?” the barkeep asked her as she turned around. Wren wiped her mouth and shook her head. The burly men laughed and jeered. Ignoring them, Wren stumbled away from the open tavern. She didn’t know where she was going but she knew she wanted to be alone.

The island was full of life; merchants cried out about their stock to anyone who would listen, people lined up to listen to seers at stalls or in actual shops that smelt of spices and incense, animals and children ran rampart everywhere. Despite the daily bar brawl, Llomerryn was peaceful. Elves, humans, some dwarves, and even qunari were living in harmony. To think her grandfather grew up on these docks too. She wondered why he even bothered to leave.

Slipping past a booze cart, Wren swiped a bottle from one of its crates. If anyone saw her they clearly didn’t care. Dodging a group of Tevinter tourists, she made her way out of town and to the coastal cliffs. The smell of sea spray and the sound of waves crashing below welcomed her. Zev and Isabela had shown her this place the first night they arrived at the port. It was a perfect diving spot for thrill seekers as there were no rocks or reefs they could crash into when they hit the water, just a giant watery chasm into nowhere.

Wren walked over to the edge and sat down. She popped the cork of her new bottle and took a swig. It was easier to drown her thoughts out with alcohol then have to face the fact that everything she gained in the past year had been taken away.

“Fuck you,” she mumbled. She didn’t know if it was directed to Alistair, herself or the Maker, but she did know that she was helplessly angry. The thought of the man she loved but could not have made her that way. It also calmed her on quiet nights when her mind would wander into dark territories. Memories of Alistair holding her, softly speaking into her ear helped her sleep. In the morning she’d regret it all.

_If the pain is that bad there is a way to be rid of it…_

That voice in her head was back and enticing as ever. Before the blight, Wren hadn’t heard it since her mother’s death. She never acted on it because the thought of her father kept her going. But he wasn’t here but the burning whiskey in her belly fogging her brain was.

_It would be peaceful and quick…_

It would be. She wouldn’t have to think anymore, just sink down the bottom of the ocean…

She wasn’t supposed to be alive anyway, but her guilty conscious got in the way and now one of her closest friends has her ex’s baby in her belly. Something Wren couldn’t give him.

Would everyone judge her for taking the easy way out? Would they consider her pathetic for giving up because of a broken heart? Or would they understand and pity her? These were questions she didn’t know if she wanted answered.

_So, what are you waiting for?_

It was a question Wren had asked herself before; it was hope she was waiting for. Something to drag her away from the brink and remind her of what she lived for. Maybe it was the booze in her system or something deeper and darker, but she couldn’t feel the hope that had brought her back each time.

_Then maybe it’s time to fly, Little Bird. Jump!_

Putting the bottle down, Wren clambered onto her legs. Her hearing became blocked by the sudden movement, but she could have sworn she heard someone call her name. Ignoring what she thought was just the wind or her mind, she said, “Fuck it.”

She stepped off the edge of the cliff. Wind rushed past her ears, but she ignored it and looked at the sunset. It was beautiful. Suddenly she hit the water. It was colder than it was on land, or maybe that was death. Wren didn’t know or mind.

Behind her someone else dived in. She wondered if they had the same idea as her. Their arms wrapped around her waist and started pulling her up. The two of them breached, gasping a spluttering as air forced its way into their lungs.

“What are you doing?” Wren managed to splutter, as her saviour swam themselves both back to shore.

“Saving your pretty behind!” a familiar Antivan accent replied. _Zevran_.

The warden felt the sand drag against her back before hearing her friend slump onto the sand in exhaustion. He cursed. “You are heavier than I ever thought you would be, but then again I always imagined you without wet clothes.”

“Why did you do that?” Wren croaked, a sob threatening to escape her lips. Zevran propped himself up on his elbows and glared at her.

“What do you mean?” he replied unapologetically. “You are drunk, not a strong swimmer, but decided anyway to take a dip of a cliff. Why do you think, you _stronzo?_ ”

She continued to stare up at the sky. She wished for one of the waves that lapped at her ankles would drag her into the sea again. The crow frowned at her. “At least that’s what I hope you were doing.”

“It wasn’t.”

Wren copped a hard punch in the shoulder at her response. She swore, slapping his hand away and glared at him. Zevran was furious. She hadn’t seen him this mad since Blaise decided to chew on his leather boots.

“You were going to _leave me?_ ” he yelled. “You didn’t even say good bye! What about your family? Your friends? _YOUR FUCKING DOG?_ ”

When Wren was little, Soris always described moments like these as ‘butt-hole clenching’ and he was completely right. It’s as if her anus actually tugged her back in line like she was an overactive dog on a leash.

“Did you not think about how I would feel? What if I found you dead, Wren? What would I say to your father?”

To be honest, she never thought about that. Wren had hoped her body would wash away with the current when she hit the water, or be lost in the chasm. But then she forced herself to think of her father; what if after Adaia’s death he jumped out of a window? The thought of finding him…it unnerved her. She understood.

The warden waited until her friend was done lecturing her. She sat up and hugged him. He held her tight as waves of sobs rolled off of her. Zevran wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the right words. In this moment, he hated Alistair. He hated how much he hurt his best friend.

“Help me, please.” He heard her say, her voice muffled from her pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Always, _mi amore_.”

 

That night Wren slept beside Zevran. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts and he didn’t want to leave her. He knew what it was like to feel nothing but darkness, and how it worsened when you were alone. He knew what it was like to want it all to end. That was, of course, before he was shown mercy and kindness from Wren. He wanted to be the same light of hope and trust that she was to him.

In the morning Zevran had told Isabela what happened. She offered to take her to the best healer in Llomerryn.

“She’ll wiggle her fingers and get her back on track again,” the pirate said. Zevran had seen some crazy shit in his time – walking and talking trees, werewolves, demons, and ghosts just to name a few – so the thought of a magic woman doing some spell to make Wren better wasn’t that inconceivable. But he still had doubts.

Wren didn’t argue. She _couldn’t_. Her hangover was the worst she had ever had. She groggily followed Isabela on a road that led out of town, as the pirate filled the silence with chatter.

“…now I’ve only seen her for an itchy undercarriage, _if you know what I mean_ , but I’m sure it’ll be the same thing!”

“Thanks for the encouragement, ‘Bela.” Wren responded with a sigh. She was glad she didn’t have to add much to the conversation Isabela seemed to be having more with herself than anything.

It wasn’t long until they reached the end of the road. A new path started; it was lined on either side with fine fishing nets. Tied to the net-fence were bits of bones, feathers, beads and carved wood pieces. Wren reckoned they were charms or some form of offering. At the end of the path a small hut sat on a hill overlooking the coastal town below. It reminded Wren of Flemeth’s hut and a part of her worried. She feared she may come face to face with the old witch once again, because Morrigan warned that it was most unlikely that her mother had perished at Wren’s blade.

“This is as far as I go,” Isabela said, “She doesn’t like being crowded by people who don’t need her.”

The warden nodded. She made her way to the hut door and knocked twice. No body answered. Gathering her courage, Wren let herself in.

Inside the hut was dark compared to the lovely day outside. The only light source was from burning candles all around the room. Incense burned on a table next to a large cooking pot. There were more ancient tomes and skulls around the tiny home than furniture. A half-finished fishing net hung on the wall. Dried plants and charms hung from the low roof, some hitting Wren in the face as she moved to the nearest stool.

“Is anyone home?” Wren called out, “My friends sent me here. They said you could help me.”

A voice behind her spoke, “And help I will, child. But first you must help yourself.”

As if conjured from smoke and shadow, a woman appeared. She looked younger than Wren imagined, but her youthful appearance was probably helped along with magic. The healer had hair the colour of charcoal and skin almost just as dark. Her hair was style in tight braids that were common around the island and those of the Qun. Feathers and beads decorated different braids, and each bead had a symbol carved into it. The woman was adorned with tattoos all of her body and jewellery made from wood, bone and silver. She was chaotic and beautiful just like the ocean.

Wren could sense she was more than just the town’s wise woman.

“I see darkness in you, Little Bird.” The witch said slowly, her thick accent sounding as intoxicating as the burning incense. “But do not fret, the light will shine again.”

“What did you call me?” Wren asked, taken aback by her father’s pet name for her. “Look, I came here-”

“You came here for help, no? I will do just that.”

Wren didn’t respond. The witch chuckled and sat down in a cushioned chair across from her. She held out her hand and the warden took it only to be tugged forward. A knife appeared out of nowhere and nicked her palm. Before Wren could yelp, the witch ran her free hand over the cut and healed it. Leaning away from her, the witch licked the blood off the knife. In her annoyance Wren wondered if she should even warn her of the taint.

“Would you like to know what I know?” the witch smiled.

“Depends. Are you going to cut me again?” Wren snapped back. Ignoring her comment, the witch closed her eyes and started to hum. If it was a song, the warden had never heard it before. Perhaps it was a chant to focus her powers.

The witch’s eyes flashed open. They were not the ink coloured gaze that felt infinite; it was the white of her eyes.

“ _Dark and light fight within you. You want to fly away like a bird, but you must stay and fight like the lioness you are. For they will come for you both, Mama_ …” she spoke in a guttural voice. Wren didn’t speak a word, but she had a sudden urge to cry out.

“ _They watch and wait in the crowd, but only the shadows will let you see. The blood calls them like the spawn below. They want the children, the mothers and the father. They want the power. They want to survive the future that is yet to come_.”

“What…what future?” Wren barely got out. She watched the woman in front of her roll her shoulders and give her a wicked grin.

“ _The future of rebirth! It will start when the wolf scars the heavens with his pride and sorrow. Gods, tainted in blood and spirit, dark and light, will rise again but will fall when the lady of flame ignites the hearts of the free and devoted once more. The titans will wake and rock the world. Beasts of old will reclaim the sky and sea. The darkness will raise its blighted head again for its war had not ended, but slumbered. And the great mother…she will be betrayed once more but her vengeance she is due will be delivered one way or another._ ”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“ _Descendant of the wolf’s hunters, you are. The fang you keep is proof of it. Once you were tainted, poisoned by the void. Now you are being cleansed of it by his blood that grows inside of you. Mama, you must learn and fight or you will be beaten and the white griffon will fall from flight once more._ ”

The witch’s eyes closed again. Wren tried to process what had just happened. She didn’t understand the majority of it, but every word stuck with her like a tattoo.

Her voice and eyes now back to normal, the witch spoke. “Now that you understand I will give you this.”

She stood up and walked over to a set of shelves full of potions, herbs and powders. Clicking her tongue, the woman mixed things into a bowl until she cast a spell to liquefy the mixture. After pouring it into a now corked bottle, she handed it over to Wren.

“You will drink this to rid yourself of the thirst for spirits and ales. It is not good for the baby.”

“What?” Wren yelped, staring at her wide eyed. The woman laughed, but it wasn’t cold like last time.

“Do not fret, Little Bird. It is your destiny. Its strength will guide you back into the light and you will find your hope again…”

With those words of strange comfort, she walked her out of the hut. Wren stumbled down the hill, deep in thought. Her guilt grew with each step as she realised she risked her child’s life in her drunken stupor. Wren touched her belly and let out a small sob.

She uncorked, downed the contents of the bottle and made a promise that it would never happen again. Wren would protect her baby no matter the cost.

 

* * *

 

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

_Alistair,_

_There are many things I've wanted to tell you. I've put off writing for a long time so it wouldn't lead to speaking in person, but now I can't avoid it._

_As I write this, what's left of Amaranthine's people are marching to the keep to overthrow me. I don't know if you know by now, but I destroyed the city in hopes to save the rest from darkspawn and to protect the wardens I've recruited. Most have called me selfish and maybe they're right. But I couldn't let another warden die again, not after what we've seen. In hopes to calm the land I've decided to step down as commander. I know they'll think I'm coward, but my pride is the least of my concern right now._

_I have a new duty. A duty to our daughter. I wish I didn't have to tell you on paper but it's true. I gave birth to healthy little girl (something even you told me I could never do) just before leaving to join the other wardens at Vigil's Keep. Her name is Hope and she isn't sick or stunted in growth, even though she came early. She's stronger than either of us. She's opened her eyes and they look like yours. I wanted you to know of her before I take her away from all this._

_Don't try to find us. I'm sorry, Alistair, for everything._

_Yours always,_

_Wren_

 

Alistair read the letter over carefully again. It had been some time since he had taken it out of the chest full of his treasured possessions. He didn't know what he'd gain from pulling it out again, but he felt the need to read it. Maybe the conversation he just had with Wren stirred something.

He remembered when his squire handed him it with his breakfast. Seeing the silver griffon seal and then Wren’s handwriting made him feel uneasy. Any news he heard from Vigil’s Keep was delivered to the counsel and written by the seneschal, except for when word came to them that the darkspawn issue had been ended but with the cost of many casualties. Alistair was not prepared for what was in the personal letter he just been given.

Stuffing the letter away once again, just as he would his emotions, the door abruptly opened. Anne bustled in talking _very_ loudly.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to find you?” she scolded. “You weren’t in your room _and_ you missed breakfast!”

“Breakfast? But it’s still night.” Alistair frowned. He watched his wife walk over to the windows and open the curtains. He was blinded by the light hitting his eyes. She raised a brow in his direction.

“Yes, breakfast.”

Alistair groaned, slapping his hands to his face. “That explains the splitting headache.”

With the curtains open it was easier to see the study the king had locked himself away in; shields belonging to his father, brother and grandmother hung up on the walls along with Duncan’s. Blades that once belonged to Duncan, Maric and Cailan were displayed on a rack close by Cailan’s armour and Moira’s iconic purple cloak. He didn’t care for them before he realised he and his children were their legacy and they deserved some form of respect. Maps of Ferelden and Thedas were framed on walls along with the silver griffon crest of the Grey Warden Order.

Anne slumped down on one of the velvet armchairs near the great oak desk Alistair sat at. She gave him a hard look over. “You haven’t slept, I take it?” she guessed.

“Correct.”

“The only time you don’t sleep is if you've had a nightmare or you’re stressing over something, otherwise you’re out like a light.” She pressed, sitting up straight in her chair. “So, tell me what’s going on.”

With a sigh, Alistair began his tale. He told her about speaking to Wren privately on her roof and how they both accepted the fact that Hope came first. After Anne asked why for the reason of their talk, he then confessed to kissing her the week before.

“Oh, I already know about that!” Anne commented nonchalantly, picking at her nails.

“You do?”

“You came into my room that night, going on about how ‘ _your love had rekindled'_  or some bollocks like that.”

Alistair didn’t know how to respond. He was always a bit perplexed at how open the both of them were with each other. They may not have fought a tyrannical lord or an archdemon together, but they had shared their own battle that was just as hard. It forged a friendship that would never break.

Anne sat in her chair pondering everything her husband had spoken about. She understood why the dramatic dynamic of Wren and Alistair’s relationship existed, but she didn’t get why it mattered in the long run. _The Maker has gifted them with a child_ , she thought to herself, _you would think they would cut it out and realise the path He’s pushing them down_.

“Love is a force of nature, Alistair.” She eventually said, “There’s no use trying to fight against it every time it gets a bit windy. Everything will come together eventually and be fine, you’ll see.”

Alistair envied her naïve look of the world. Anne stood up, kissed the top of his head and told him to get some rest before leaving out the door. Standing up from the desk, Alistair stretched and walked over to the large windows that overlooked the city and castle grounds. He thought about Wren and how broken she looked that night; it hurt her to part herself from him again. Alistair almost told her to forget it all, to trust his strength and ability to protect both of them. But the vivid memory of seeing his father for the first time, strung up and decaying on a bleeding contraption...

Wren was right; Hope was in danger from his enemies for being his daughter.

After reliving his haunting trip to Antiva, Alistair heard the door burst open again. Instead of his wife standing there complaining about his lack of sleep, it was Wren. She looked distraught. 

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he asked, panic starting to rise in his voice.

“Yellow Eyes are _here!_ ” she blurted out. He gave her a confused look. As the warden explained who they were, how they had followed her for years and how they showed themselves for the first time to Hope, Alistair could feel his stomach drop. The thought of his father crept up on him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me about them sooner?” Alistair pushed.

“I don’t know, Alistair.” Wren replied, exasperated, “Just add it to the list of all the other things I kept to myself!”

He ignored the last comment and started to rapidly think. Somebody threatened his daughter under _his_ roof. They were part of his staff or at least looked as if they were. They must know who and what she is if they knew to have eyes in the palace. So, what did they want and why do they want it?

“We will deal with this.”

“You _can’t_ deal with this!” she hissed. “They’re everywhere. They find us every time, no matter how far we run!”

Alistair pulled her into a tight hug. He could see she was in fight or flight mode. He pulled away slightly to look her in the eye. “We _will_ deal with this, Wren. Whatever it takes.”

The intensity in his eyes and truth in his voice calmed Wren. How many times had she run because of these people who filled her with unease? She wondered if she would have stood her ground earlier if she let someone in at least once. Realising how close they were, Alistair pulled away completely and gave an awkward sigh. Wren gave him a meek smile and thanked him. Even though her hope in the situation wasn’t high, she was thankful for how determined he was.

That day a council meeting was called last minute to inform them of the current occurrence. Ambassadors from certain groups of nobles, merchant guilds, and farmers came together in the large war room to listen to their king. However, they didn’t understand why Alistair would raise the city’s defences for some child they had never met personally.

“Who is this child to demand such a request, your Majesty?” the head of the bankers’ guild scoffed. Before Alistair could be dragged into a lie, Wren came through the door with her father and Hope behind her.

“She’s _my_ daughter, that’s why.” She answered glaring at the snooty looking man. “Can’t the Hero of Ferelden ask for help?”

"After Ameranthine? I think not!"

“It’s also a matter of safety for our city.” Alistair cut in with a stern tone. “These people have snuck their way into our gates and quarters like rats right under our noses!”

“They’re not like rats.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to Hope. They stared at her in a mix of confusion and annoyance. Bann Alfstanna encouraged her to continue. Hope looked to her mother for approval and said, “They’re like shadows. They’re everywhere and sometimes you can feel their eyes on you, but you turn around and see nothing…until it’s dark and you can see some of their eyes.”

“Elves.” Cyrion murmured, a deep frown forming on his face. Everyone looked at each other with unease.

“Why would they follow you, little one?” Alfstanna asked gently. Wren put a protective hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Because…I’m a mage. A powerful one they think.”

It was half a lie, but Hope panicked and said the next best thing to being the illegitimate child of the king. Everyone who didn’t know the full truth was in an uproar, except for the woman who asked. Her moss green eyes scrutinised Hope in silence. The nobles blamed the girl for the Yellow Eyes and threatened to lock her up in the circle, claiming it would be safer for both parties.

“If you even try I will hunt you down and gut you in your own chambers like I did Rendon Howe and Vaughan Kendall!” Wren snarled, baring her teeth at the men. Cyrion cleared his throat and put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. She knew that was his polite way of saying ‘sit the fuck down, kiddo’.

“We will do neither. You are getting… _distracted_ from the issue at hand, my lords and lady.” He said, steadily eyeing everyone in the room. “We need to work together, but be mindful that this could be a cult. A group to turn us against everything we value to reach their goal; Hope. If they are in fact looking to harness her power, like many cults have done to others before them, then we need to protect the girl instead of enable them to do whatever they wish with her.”

Alistair let out a small sigh of relief and gave the ambassador a thankful nod. Grand Cleric Elemena frowned. “We should put her under the protection of the templars.”

“No offence, Grand Cleric,” Alistair interjected before Wren could. “But after recent events in Kirkwall I wouldn’t trust the judgement of any templar _or_ even the circle, regardless of our mutual friendships. Hope will stay with her mother, _the Hero of Ferelden_ , and I will personally see to the protection of both.”

The Merchant Guild’s ambassador, a dwarven woman with a brass contraption connected to her ear that resembled a very small horn, crossed her beefy arms. “Don’t you trust us, your Majesty? If this is that important you should be able to trust in us to help you and the people we swore to help council over.”

“I do trust you, Lady Isana. All of you unconditionally and that is why you are here. But I don’t trust the safety of our ranks. They infiltrated my own people and no doubt they have with yours.”

The next hour was spent recreating trade routes to match with the lockdown of certain Denerim gates, plans for defence, and morale boosters for the general populates. Some of the conservative council members didn’t agree with what they were doing, but they didn’t like the idea of cult who craved magic seeping their way into their homes, so they didn’t argue much. Alistair feared that it would all turn on him as soon as the rumours reached the ears of his people. Fear would spread and cause chaos, and no doubt the elves would be targeted. He made sure the alienage gates were heavily guarded to which he knew would eventually backfire on him when the elves have enough of human intervention. Cyrion and Wren would have to deal with those flames.

“Thank you,” Wren murmured, touching his arm and pulling him out of thought. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually be able to rely on someone other than myself.”

Giving her a smile, Alistair replied, “I’m glad could remind you. Next time, though, warn me prior to the important meeting that _someone_ is a mage.”

“Sorry, but at least they don't know the alternative. Can you imagine what they'd say if they knew their 'royal bastard' has one of his own?”

Eamon cleared his throat. He had been watching them since he entered the room at the start of the meeting. “You might want to watch what you say lest someone happens to overhear.”

“Like you, sneaky old bat?” Alistair joked. Eamon gave him a wink, but he quickly turned serious.

“I’ve been listening to the members of council.” The old lord mentioned in a low voice. “There are those that are fearful and curious about the situation, but are with you. The others whisper against you.”

Wren asked what they were saying; they whispered of taking the issue into their own hands, that included dealing Hope themselves. The knowledge of her being a mage scared them more than the ominous group stalking her every move. Wren looked as though she was going to storm out the door herself and fight the assholes.

“They’ve also been watching you and…presume there’s more to Hope than meets the eye.” Eamon continued, giving her and Alistair a knowing look. “They fear that throne might be compromised, or, uh, _impure_ by her presence. To them it is just another reason to take action.”

Alistair now was ready to fight the members who grouped outside the door. 

“You must be vigilant. Many Mac Tir sympathisers still exist and are closer than you think.”

Before turning on his heel Wren asked how his son was. His face was sad and fearful. He said, “Connor is scared about what’s happening around Thedas. He is afraid for himself and for us, as we all are.”

With a bow of his head, Eamon left. She felt thankful that he was on her side, but wished she could help him in return.

 

The meeting was over and Hope felt relieved. She was grateful that they were all there to help her with the Yellow Eyes, but after confessing her half truth their eyes bore into her more than before. While her grandfather was busy talking to the dwarven lady with the strange looking ear and the tall noble woman who reminded her of a hawk, Hope slipped away down the corridor. She knew it probably wasn’t the best idea considering why they were all here, but she needed to go somewhere quiet to be alone. At first, she was very cautious not to be seen but after a time of not bumping into anyone, Hope started to relax and strolled deeper into the palace. Her wandering eventually led her to an open door leading down into a dark chamber that was used for prisoners. However, every cell she passed was empty…until she noticed someone at the end of the room. Ducking behind a column, Hope peeked her head out. She saw the person unlock the cell door, put a tray of what Hope could only presume food was on, and close the door again. As if sensing the curious brown eyes on them, the person looked down to where Hope hid. Luckily the only light source was a candle near the cell. It only glinted off the person’s eyes, making them glow yellow…

As Hope held her breath and shuffled deeper into a shadowed corner, the person walked down the chamber and left. The echo of each footstep sent punches of anxiety into her. When she heard the door shut Hope edged towards the cell. She had always heard the phrase about the curious cat, but couldn’t help herself from taking a peek of the mysterious prisoner.

A woman with long blonde hair stood in the cell, her face to the light of the small barred window and her back to Hope. The tray she was given was moved to a small ornate table and held a generous amount of food and a flagon of something. Her unmade bed was pushed to the wall. It looked as though the mattress and pillow were as comfortable as the thick, expensive blankets on top. This woman was clearly not the normal run of the mill prisoner. Hope noticed the woman was reading something and then quickly hid it in between two books under her bed.

“Hello,” Hope spoke, her voice bouncing off the stone walls. The woman jumped and spun around. She was beautiful, regal even dressed in the simple white dress. Her eyes softened at the sight of the little girl but her body stood rigid like a cautious cat.

“Hello,” she responded, stalking slowly to the bars. “What’s your name?”

“Hope.”

“Hello, Hope. My name is Anora. What brings you down here?”

Hope shrugged and lied about being lost. She didn’t trust the glint in the Anora’s eyes. It was the look of an animal who had been caged too long and would do whatever it takes to get out. However, Hope was curious of her and it seemed the same for the woman. Hope wondered how long she had spoken to someone. She asked, “Why are you in here?”

Anora studied her before answering. “I’m in here because I was betrayed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Hope frowned. “Why would you be locked up if someone betrayed you?”

“I asked myself the same question.” she answered, letting out a bitter laugh. “We were at war and my father was the enemy. He had done terrible things with twisted, but _good_ , intentions. I made a deal with the opposing side to stop my father from becoming the monster he hated…a tyrant. But when it was time to deliver on their side of the deal I was betrayed and they killed my father. That bastard and his whore had me locked up, because I wouldn’t shut up and kneel.”

It felt to Hope that she had been waiting for a long time for someone to ask her that question. She felt sorry for Anora, but was still hesitant to get closer. She was still a prisoner after all. The woman’s hands gripped around the bars and she cocked her head to the side.

“I have a peculiar feeling that I know you.” She mused, staring at Hope. “You look so familiar…”

Feeling rather uncomfortable, Hope changed the subject quickly. “Who betrayed you?”

She snapped back to the quiet fury that bubbled, waiting to erupt. With a mocking tone, she snarled, “King Alistair and his Hero of Ferelden!”

Hope’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to believe her parents would throw away their honour like that. She knew her mother would do dastardly things that goes against her morals for Hope, but apart from that she always tried to do what was right. And as for her father? Alistair was considered a good king to everyone. He was the people’s king. He wouldn’t betray his word…would he?

“I wonder if the people wonder where I went, or if they still even care. They probably think I’ve run off to the Free Marchers…when really I’m underneath their feet.” Anora mumbled to herself. “Their golden bastard king…they think he’s so perfect and kind and just. Ha! Little do they know he still holds me in this gilded cage.”

“I could help you get out,” Hope suggested quietly. She didn’t know why. Anora laughed and brushed her off.

“You can’t help me, girl, and I wouldn’t want you to. No…I want him to be reminded that I’m still here, unbroken and unforgiving. I _will_ get my revenge.”

Hope didn’t understand. How could she gain anything from staying here? All she saw was the woman’s pride corrupting her. Hope wanted to leave. From behind the door that led her to this dungeon, she could hear a familiar voice call her name. Anora heard it too.

“You better go, little one,” she murmured, walking over to her bed. “I don’t think they would appreciate knowing that you spoke with me.”

Silently agreeing with her, Hope said her goodbyes and quickly made her exit down the chamber, up the stairs and through the door. The queen was outside, midway through calling out her name before she noticed the girl closing the dungeon door.

“There you are! We’ve been searching all over the grounds for you. Your mother’s in right fit!” Anne scolded, walking over to her. She eyed the door worryingly and asked, “What were you doing down there?”

“I got lost.” Hope lied once again. She was being rather untruthful today. Anne sighed and gave her a smile. Whether she believed her or not, Hope couldn’t tell, but she didn’t argue with her. The two of them left the dungeon door to find Wren, but Hope couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt for the prisoner down in the cell. If Anora was telling the truth, everything Hope knew of her parents could be a lie.

That frightened her.


	6. I Burn For You

_9:19 Dragon, eleven years before the blight_

 

“Why do we have to do this, mama?” a young Wren whined. The eight year old hated early morning practice. She couldn’t understand why her mother insisted on training at the crack of dawn.

“Because, Little Bird, if something happens to me you need to know how to defend yourself and protect our family.” Adaia replied.

“Then why can’t Soris train with us?”

“He will, but I want you to learn as much as you can first. I trust you the most with my secrets!” she winked and booped her little nose.

The Denerim alienage had always been a community that valued family above everything. And like all families they didn’t always get along but their love and loyalty were what held the elves together through hard times. This dynamic created another unofficial head of the alienage; the matriarch, who tended to the people within the walls while the hahren dealt with the political and public issues. The hahren was the face, the matriarch was the heart. When Adaia’s mother, Nira, first arrived at the alienage she was taken in by the matriarch of that time and eventually took her place. After Nira’s death, Adaia took over and it was always expected of Wren to do the same.

“Now strike me again!”

Adaia tapped her daggers together to goad her daughter into another attack. With a determined and frustrated huff, Wren launched herself towards her mother. The matriarch easily countered and knocked her off her feet. “If you let your anger control you, you’re dead. _Whoever you’re protecting is dead._ I’m not teaching you how to die.”

Every day was the same and had been since Wren was littler, but today felt different. There was unease in the air and Adaia could sense it. They trained until Cyrion called them back in for lunch. He had prepared bread and some cured meats on the dining table. Soris chewed happily on his meal.

“You two look worn out. Good lesson?” Cyrion asked, drying a dish.

“Very.” Adaia smiled, walking over to her husband and giving him a kiss. Wren and Soris rolled their eyes and groaned. “I feel like a whipped mule on harvest day.” Wren grumbled into her bread.

“You look like it too!” Soris giggled. His cousin promptly kicked him in the shins.

The Tabris family chatted merrily over their meal until frantic banging rattled their front door. Adaia and Cyrion hurried over to open it; their local seamstress stood there panting, her face in sheer panic. Without saying a word, the adults left the house to speak with one another, closing the door behind them. The two children looked at one another and leapt from their chairs. They rushed to the window, doing their best not to be caught snooping.

“What d’you think happened?” Soris whispered. They watched the woman sob into Adaia’s arms. Cyrion had a worried look on his face.

“I don’t know.” Wren whispered back.

After a time, the woman left and the young elves’ parents started to head back towards the house. In a frantic spin around the children ran into their bedroom, where they pressed their ears up to the door.

The front door opened and closed. Adaia began to collect her weapons and armour. Her husband watched in dismay.

“You’re going _now?_ ” Cyrion exclaimed. “Can’t we talk about this first?”

“Dora’s daughter doesn’t have time! I need to leave right now and get her back.” Adaia replied, agitated. She rushed passed him to get to a small wooden box that held some healing salves. The matriarch turned to find herself face to face with her husband.

“This could get you killed, Adaia.” He growled, “Our daughter needs you-”

“ _I know what I could lose!_ ” she snarled back, pushing him away. “But if it was Wren who was taken, wouldn’t you do whatever you could to get her back, even if it meant relying on someone else?”

“I wouldn’t send someone to their grave in the hopes that our daughter would come back, _no._ ”

Adaia slammed her gear down on the table. Her body shook with raw emotion. Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a soft but controlled voice. “If there is another way, I am _begging_ you Cyri, tell me. Because I can’t see it.” He didn’t say anything. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I made a vow before marrying you and I can’t turn my back on it now.”

Slowly she picked up her gear again and started towards the front door. As she passed Cyrion, he spoke in a broken voice. “You would rather die with your pride intact than live surrounded by your family?”

“It’s not about pride, my love.” Adaia responded, before turning the door knob. “It’s about doing what’s right and hoping that fate will return in kind.”

She slammed the door behind her.

 

Adaia didn’t return for supper that night. Cyrion spent that time stern and rigid by the fireplace. Wren couldn’t help but blame her father for her mother’s absence. Even she understood Adaia’s duty as matriarch; it was bigger than the Tabris family, because the _whole alienage_ was their family and she would defend her family with her life. But Wren also didn’t believe her mother could be harmed.

The morning after was cold. The smell of acrid smoke and the sound of bells filled the air. Soris violently shook his cousin awake. “Wake up! You have to wake up!”

She was barely conscious when he grabbed her hand and dragged her from her bed to the front door. It was wide open. They could see the crowd of elves gathered around by the south entrance. The two of them pushed through to the front, but Wren wished they hadn't as soon as she saw what had grabbed everyone's attention.

A group of armed men had their weapons drawn on a tied up Adaia. Wren lurched forward with a scream, but was pulled back by many hands. The humans sneered.

“Brave little one, isn’t she?” the human leader mused. He looked down at Adaia and asked, “She yours?”

She said nothing. He huffed and sauntered towards the crowd with a slimy grin on his face.

“So, this is what we’re gonna’ do, lads,” he addressed the elves, “Your ‘ero here, buggered us royally by burnin’ our dock and releasing our stock-”

“Your stock? They were _people_ , you bastard!” Adaia yelled. One of the men punched her in the face and kicked her in the gut. Wren started to cry.

“As I was sayin’, we need to rebuild and if you want your precious vigilante back alive, do us a favour and give yourselves over willingly.”

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Before they could give an answer, Adaia spluttered, “Unlike _you_ assholes, we can’t be bought. And we will _never_ let our freedom be either.”

The man sighed. “Guess we’ll just take ‘em by force then. Round ‘em up boys!”

As the elves scattered away screaming, Wren was knocked over. A burly man came lumbering towards her, but was knocked to his feet with a swift kick behind the kneecaps. Adaia had managed to get onto her feet but her hands were still tied. Quickly taking the knife from her mother’s boot, Wren cut her binds.

“Remember your training!” Adaia ordered, giving her one of her daggers. It was a bronze, curved blade with an elven name carved into the hilt; _the Fang of Fen'Harel_.

The burly man clambered to a stand and was not happy. He charged at Adaia but she was too fast. She quickly slipped behind him and sliced the back of his thighs. It brought him to his knees again before her blade twisted in his kidneys. Adaia looked up at Wren, giving her a triumphant smile but her daughter didn’t return it. It felt as thought time slowed down as she watched her mother be struck through the back with the leader of the slavers’ sword.

“I think I’ll make ‘er my _personal_ little ‘elper.” The slimy man hissed in Adaia’s ear. She roared in great pain as she pulled her body away from him and his blade to plunge her own dagger into his throat. He stumbled back, clutching at his neck, before crumbling to the ground. Adaia turned to look at Wren before doing the same. Wren rushed to her, chucking the blade aside. Blood pooled on her belly and there was no way in stopping it. Wren started to cry out for help. The city guard had stormed through the north and south gate, and began to overwhelm the slavers. Two soldiers stopped to help Adaia after hearing Wren’s wails.

“Wren, look at me,” Adaia spluttered, gripping her daughter’s hand with as much strength as she had left. She was pale as a sheet. “Tell papa I’m sorry, okay?”

“Mama, please…”

“I love you, my little bird. I always…will…”

Her breathing stopped but her eyes still lingered on her daughter's face. The soldiers watched the young girl sob over her dead mother, heart broken that they couldn’t help. From the chaos a man and boy screamed for Wren. The guards called them over.

“No… _no!_ ”

Wren looked up to see her father dropping to his knees on the other side of his wife’s body. He did something she had never seen him do; cry. It started in his chest and it rolled through him like ocean waves. His sobs were heavy and guttural. His screams could have pierced the Veil itself.

“My love, my love…” he repeated, cradling Adaia’s corpse in his arms. “Don’t leave me, please…”

Soris and Wren rested against one another and cried until they had no tears left. When they were gone they just sat with Cyrion as he still held onto his beloved.

“What are we going to do?” Soris whispered. No one answered, but Wren knew what she needed to do; what was once her mother’s duty was now her own. She would be better, faster and stronger.

The people who hurt her family would pay.

 

* * *

 

_9:38 Dragon, seven years after the blight_

 

The following week of the council meeting was chaotic with the new changes to daily regime, but quiet on Yellow Eyes front. Too quiet in Wren's opinion. New guard and trade routes were put into action, but also unintentionally put a day’s halt on All Soul’s Day preparations. Despite initial irritations from the common public and an outcry of heresy from the chantry, as soon as the merchants arrived through the gates of Denerim the city was alight with excitement for the celebrations that were just two days away. Wren felt disoriented by how fast things went. She felt like she was caught in a rushing crowd, being spun and bumped around until there was no one around but the dust kicked up from the stampede.

Wren and Hope were confined to the palace for their safety until further notice, so the warden spent the week with Alistair helping him deal with nobles who felt put out place by all the sudden changes. After many hours of insults, complaints and general rudeness the urge to scare them away was great. It was draining for both the king and the warden. They needed a good distraction, so they took a break from herding the noble cats to train with each other like they used to.

“I know it seems odd for me to ask this with everything that’s going on,” Wren began to say, panting slightly. The warden watched Alistair roll his shoulders, and continued, “But would you come to the All Soul’s Day celebrations held at the alienage?”

Alistair raised his brow, a slow smirk sliding on to his face. “And why exactly would one, such as yourself, ask me?”

Brushing him off with a half-hearted insult, Wren explained that Hope wanted to go but as they were on house arrest their only way out would be to invite the king himself.

“My cousin and his family are also coming down from Highever.” She added quietly. “I haven’t seen him in years and I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to. Plus, we could really use the distraction and I think a party is a great one.”

Letting out a melodramatic sigh, Alistair agreed. “I _guess_ I could make an appearance. The things I do for my girls-”

He stopped short and looked at her with a panicked expression. She laughed.

“C’mon, your Highness,” Wren smiled, raising her blades again clinking them together. “Let’s see if your training still holds up in a real fight!”

 

Despite Hope’s troubled thoughts about her parents after her accidental visit to the dungeons, she was excited to go with them to the alienage’s party they were holding for All Soul’s Day. She had only been to one village fair when she was smaller and that was incredible in her eyes even then. Hope couldn’t even imagine what the All Soul’s Day celebrations would be like. When Alistair greeted them at the castle gates, dressed in a nice tunic and leather pants, he looked just as excited as she was. Before they left he stopped to give Hope a gift.

“I’ve had this for a very long time and I’ve always considered it lucky,” he began, trying to not sound as awkward he felt. “It’s not much, but to me it’s special…and I want you to have it, Hope, so you always have something to remember me by.”

Hope took the gift; it was inside a small box one would put a ring in. Inside was a large coin-like trinket. It was gold that hadn’t been polished in years and looked as if someone had carved a rune into it, but it had been rubbed so much Hope could only faintly see it. Wren let out a small gasp. How many times had she seen Alistair fiddle with that coin on their travels? He always had it on his person.

“Thank you, papa,” Hope said quietly, wrapping her arms around Alistair’s waist tightly. Even thou he was stunned by her reaction, he didn’t hesitate to hug her back. He looked at Wren who smiled at the sight of her daughter embracing her father. Slipping the runed coin into her dress pocket, the three of them walked to the alienage together with a trail of guards behind them. The doors opened and the sound of music and the smell of spit roasts welcomed them.

For a holiday that was celebrated to mourn lost loved ones and the death of Lady Andraste, Alistair was astounded at how joyful the alienage seemed to be. Elves in their finest garb bustled around with food and wine, some were even carrying around chairs and tables from their homes to accommodate the festivities. A small group played on flutes, lutes and drums; a young elven girl sang and played the tambourine with them. Lanterns and other colourful decorations were strung up from window to window, beam to beam, even adorning the great vhenadahl. The tree's trunk had been painted by the children, and some of the older ones climbed the branches to hang ribbons. New candles, gifts and mementos had been placed at the base of the tree in memorial of those the alienage had lost. It was a sight to behold.

“Cousin!” a familiar voice cried out. Wren let out an uncharacteristically high squeal and threw herself into the arms of a red headed man. It was Soris. He laughed and said, “Who are you and what have you done with the Wren we all know and love?”

“I’ve missed you so much,” she smiled, pulling away to look at his face. He hadn’t aged much say for the faint lines at the corner of his eyes. “It’s been a long time.”

Soris gave her a smile and turned to introduce his family. To Alistair’s surprise Soris’ wife, Eliza, was human. She had light brown hair that was braided and pinned around her head. Her dress was made of blue velvet and gold embroidery. It didn’t hide the swollen baby belly underneath. They had their two young sons with them, Evan and Mordred.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Eliza smiled warmly. She held her husband’s hand and stared deeply into his eyes, “This one would talk about you for hours!”

As Soris tried explaining that she was exaggerating just a tad, Wren chuckled and introduced Hope, who had been standing off to the side with Alistair. As Soris knelt down to shake Hope’s hand and give her a smile, Eliza gasped at seeing the King of Ferelden in her midst, and quickly curtsied.

“Please, I’m a guest just as you are. There’s no need.” He awkwardly laughed. Alistair bowed his head to Soris. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Like wise, your Majesty.”

After introductions, the group of humans and elves delved into the party. Many eyes gawked at the humans wandering around but quickly turned away when the Tabris cousins gave them ‘a look’. Cyrion and Shianni rushed to greet them. As the three cousins reunited with hugs and laughter, Cyrion watched them. It warmed his heart to see his children and their families all together, as he never thought he’d see the day. He was particularly pleased to see his daughter relieve herself of stress even if it was just for a little while.

It was after downing a pint of ale that Alistair noticed a cluster of elves parting to excitedly whisper in the ears of others. Before he could even comment on what they were doing, Shianni reappeared with a familiar looking elf.

“They’re about to do your mother’s dance!” she told Wren excitedly. “Alarith and I are gonna’ too. Come join us!”

Soris nudged Wren and grinned. “Yeah, cousin. For old time’s sake.”

“Fine! But I haven’t done it in years,” she groaned, “So, if you make fun of me I’m gonna’ make sure I step on your toes or kick your shins.”

They pulled away from their group towards the band that were readying their instruments. They watched different elves, young and old, gather around with their dance partners. Alistair and Eliza asked Cyrion to shine some clarity on what they were doing. He explained that Wren's grandmother, Nira, used to tell the children about an old dalish story her own mother used to tell her at night. The tale turned into a dance with the help of Nira's young daughter, Adaia, who then passed it on for celebrations like All Soul's Day. It was a favourite of all generations.

“What’s it about, Grandpapa?” asked Hope.

"It's a tale of two cursed lovers; life and death, the beginning and end. Adaia once told me it was a combination of many old stories." Cyrion replied in a gentle voice. "They are drawn together, but also forced apart by the pain they cause, for when life is taken another is renewed. But despite that, one cannot exist without the other. This is why we dance and retell the story in honour of the dead, because even though people we love are gone their death has given life to someone else."

Alistair felt a sort of kin to the lovers in the story; their cycle reminded him of his very own with Wren. The beat of a drum began to play and everyone who wasn’t participating in the dance hushed each other into silence. The singer started to tap her tambourine to the beat and the dancers followed in kind. The story was first sung softly until it slowly built up to into a whirlwind of music and dancing around the vhenadahl.

Hope was entranced by it. She watched her mother twirl and leap in time with the music, looking so young and carefree. She wondered if she was just as entranced with the song as she was. Hope looked up at Alistair who couldn’t keep his eyes off of her mother. He had always heard stories of dalish elves being seen dancing around their fire as if casting a spell. He always thought it was just some hogwash men would spout when drunk, but in that moment, Alistair decided that they weren’t entirely wrong. It was a form of magic he could feel in his soul.

Before she started to spin, Wren caught his bewitched gaze and gave him a wink and grin. Her green dress flared out as she spun until the music ended with a collective cheer and applause. 

Cyrion, Hope and Soris’ family rushed over to praise them all. Alistair followed slowly, but hung back from the crowd. He didn’t go unnoticed. Wren pulled away from the group and sidled up to him. She took his almost empty flagon and downed the remains. She was pink in the cheeks.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” he said, watching her incredulously and giving her a playful nudge of his elbow.

“Any fool with a sense of rhythm can dance,” she panted, giving him a playful grin. “Are you a fool, Alistair?”

He laughed. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The king offered his hand and she took it before being dragged in front of the band for the next song. The upbeat music started and Alistair began to sway his hips and move his arms in a fluid motion. Wren let out a cackle of laughter, surprised at his sudden enthusiasm and ridiculous dance moves. Was she dreaming?

“What are you _doing_?”

“Dancing, of course. What are _you_ doing?” Alistair shot back, jiving towards her. He took her hand and twirled her around.

“You’re a fool!” she laughed. _Your fool_ , he thought. Wren took both of his hands and started to move with him, keeping in time with the beat of the drum. As ridiculous as they looked, it was a relief for them to let their guard down. And it was such an innocent act…but it did pull at Alistair’s heartstrings.

After the song ended and new one started, everyone joined them on the dance floor and forgot about their troubles. This joy of singing, dancing and drinking stretched across the night. It was late when the band started to pack up and head back to their homes with everyone else. Wren helped her father clean up a table covered in food and drink.

“It was wonderful to see you dance again, Little Bird,” Cyrion commented, giving her a warm smile. “I don’t think I’ve seen you that free in a very long time.”

Wren hauled a stack of plates and cups over to the wash tub. “It felt good to dance again.” She agreed. They continued to collect dishes in comfortable silence until her father cleared his throat. He was clearly nervous.

“After seeing you so happy and comfortable tonight I was wondering if you and Hope would stay here with us?” he proposed.

“Papa…” she started, before he interrupted her.

“ _I know, I know_ , there are dangers,” Cyrion pushed, putting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “But my girl, there will always be dangers. This world is full with strife, but we can weather the storm together. Come back home and live a life that isn’t so lonely. Do it for Hope…” they turned to look at the young girl who was propped up on Alistair’s shoulders, looking up at the vhenadahl. “Do it for _yourself_.”

Wren didn’t respond. She watched her daughter and the man she loved instead, feeling as though they were in a different world to her. It was a pretty world to imagine.

She turned to give her father an answer, but then one of the apartment complexes exploded. Screams began to ring through the alienage. Everyone came out of their homes to find out what happened, just time for another whistling fireball the size of a cart to hit another building. Whatever peace and joy had been gained that night burnt up with each fireball attack. People scattered; they grabbed at each other and ran for the gates. More explosions could be heard on the other side of town.

“Hope!” Wren screamed, dragging her father along to find somewhere safe.

“Over here, cousin!” she heard Soris callout. They followed his voice and found him with his family, Hope and Blaise. Shianni was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s with the king, helping people escape.” Eliza informed them. Quickly they decided that Eliza was to get the children out while Wren, Soris and Cyrion would stay and look for the rest of their group.

“I need you to stay with Blaise and Aunt Eliza, okay?” Wren ordered Hope.

“Okay.”

She kissed her daughter’s forehead quickly before turning around and dashing back into the blaze. Wren pushed down the familiar feeling of dread so she wouldn’t turn back around and run off with Hope.

Every minute or two another fireball would hit another building. Most of the alienage was up in flames, so each attack collapsed walls or tore straight through them. Those who stayed in their homes wouldn’t have survived. Before they could dwell on that tragic thought, Soris pointed out Alistair. He was with Alarith, trying to lift a part of someone’s roof off of a body. As they got closer they realised it was Shianni. The three of them dashed to aid the men and managed to pull their baby cousin out.

“She needs a healer!” Soris cried. That was an understatement; her legs had been crushed by the rubble, she had burns all over her body and she had hit her head, leaving herself unconscious.

“I can get her out, you help the others.” Alarith yelled over the sound of a building nearby crumbling. They agreed, helping him pick her up and watched their shopkeeper run through the thick smoke to escape through the exit. Alistair turned to Soris and Wren.

“Is everyone alright? Is Hope safe?”

“They’re fine. My wife has ran out with the children.” Soris assured him. Cries for help from a burning building interrupted them.

“The orphans!” Cyrion gasped, his stomach dropping like a brick. He bolted towards the burning orphanage.

“Papa, wait!”

Wren, Soris and Alistair chased after the elder, dodging chunks of flaming wood and stone that seemed as though they were falling from the sky. But they weren’t fast enough; Cyrion managed to get through the burning door frame of the orphanage in hopes to save the children stuck inside, but didn’t hear the whistle of the fireball heading his way.

“ _NO!_ ” Wren managed to scream out before the orphanage blew up, blasting the three of them back.

Time slowed down. Everything fell silent.

Wren couldn’t move or breath. The wind had been knocked right out of her. Her ribs felt broken and her head felt heavy. She could hear nothing but a high-pitched tone, and see nothing but the vhenadahl’s branches above protecting her from the fiery debris falling like snow. It was strangely peaceful.

The world started to come back to her again. She could feel Alistair beside her, yelling for her cousin.

“Wren, can you hear me? Oh, thank the Maker!” he gasped, as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was the smoke and ash, but it looked as though he had been crying. Alistair helped her to her feet and let her put her weight on him.

“Soris, we need to leave!” he yelled again. That’s when Wren saw her cousin; he had his back to them, watching the orphanage burn. It all came back to her.

 _Papa_.

She tore away from Alistair and started to run toward the flames, screaming for her father. Alistair chased after her, but Soris snatched her wrist as she ran past. His arms quickly wrapped around her torso and he began to pull her back.

“You can’t save him.” She barely heard him say.

“ _PAPA!_ Let me _go,_ Soris! _PAPA!_ ”

“Wren, he’s gone! We have to go now!”

Alistair reached them, and without a word he lifted Wren over his shoulder and followed Soris out the gates of the alienage. As Wren screamed for her father and cried for her home, she watched as another fireball hit the vhenadahl destroying it forever. She was foggy after that.

 

Guards had met them at the gates, thanking the Maker that their king was safe. They informed Alistair of the other attack on the chantry vigil. They had been overwhelmed on both sides of the city.

“And, your Highness, they’ve…they’ve attacked the palace.” the young guard stammered.

“Is the queen safe?” she heard Alistair ask.

“Yes, my king. But they weren’t looking for Queen Anne.”

Before Alistair could ask the guard what he could have possibly meant, Eliza ran towards him. She was in tears and clutched her swollen belly. “Hope is gone, you Highness. One minute she was with me and then the next minute she was gone!”

“Was the hound with her?”

“I think so,”

“Then we have a chance of finding her. Wren-”

Alistair turned to where he had set the warden down, but she wasn’t there. Wren had already got up and started searching from the moment she saw Eliza. She rushed through the crowds of humans and elves, her heart beating like a drum and her smoke-filled lungs wheezing for clean air. She prayed to every god she knew for her daughter to be safe, but they didn’t answer.

“MAMA!” she heard Hope scream. Someone wearing a black hooded robe had her slung over their shoulder as they ran away from a furious, charging mabari. Without hesitation Wren darted towards them, ignoring the pain in her side and the back of the head. Hope wriggled and kicked at her captor, so much that she managed pull their hood back. She knew that face; in the light of the burning city Hope saw the face of the scarred man she met at the chicken coop.

Wren was so close to her. Once again, time slowed down. For a moment she thought she was stuck in a nightmare, but none of her nightmares physically hurt her like this. She then heard her attacker before seeing them, but it didn’t matter. Wren didn’t have time to dodge the bolt of lightning that hit her square in the chest, stunning her instantly.

The warden collapsed and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance scene between Wren and Alistair was not intentional when I started writing the chapter...but then I rewatched George Of The Jungle (the one with Brendan Frasier, you know the one) and a wave of nostalgia took over me with the wedding song. I also couldn't get it out of head. So, when reading that sweet little scene before everything goes to hell imagine the song Dela by Johnny Clegg & Savuka being played while Alistair dances like Jim Hopper (AKA the ultimate dad) from Stranger Things.


	7. I'm All Alone and I Need You Now

_9:31 Dragon, a month before the final battle at Fort Drakon_

 

Alistair sat down on his bed, slapping his hands on his face. He had made the first of many hard decisions for his duty as king. He broke his own heart as well as Wren's but if he hadn’t, _they_ would have; the nobles and other elite, the chantry, his unseen enemies…they would have all done everything they could to keep another grey warden away from the throne, especially one who is an elf. The possibility of a 'half-breed' being born and becoming the next heir was inconceivable to them.

He sat in his room weeping until all light outside his window disappeared. Alistair couldn't stop thinking about her face; her eyes glazed over at his words, her jaw clenched as he apologised. When she spoke, her voice was cold and expressionless. Any rage or sadness he expected was nowhere to be seen...but that's when he realised everyone behind her were watching. He had been so caught up in his own turmoil he didn't realise that he had interrupted a joyous scene. Their friends were celebrating their victory at the Landsmeet.

The now turned King of Ferelden snapped out of his gut twisting thoughts as the door opened and slammed shut. Wren stood there, glaring at him with tears streaming down her face. He stood up and was about to speak before she flew towards him, grabbing the front of his shirt ferociously.

"You bastard!" She snarled. "In front of _everyone?_ You didn't even have the _decency_ to give us privacy."

She looked wild. The smell of wine was on her, but he knew from the steady look in her eyes that this was all done soberly. Alistair gently reached for her hands that were clenched around his collar, and began to speak. "Wren, I-"

"Shut up!” she interrupted, letting go and pushing him away. “I knew this would come – you leaving me – but I thought you cared enough to show me at least some sort of respect!"

The warden stared at him, breathing heavily. What could he say to sooth her? He had broken her heart. He wanted to reach out to her, but thought better of it.

"Did you even fight for us?" Wren asked, her voice breaking.

"I didn't have a choice." Alistair responded quietly, avoiding her question and gaze. Her face twisted in pain.

"You always have a choice, Alistair. _Always._ "

He hung his head and said nothing. Wren let out a cold bark of laughter and turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself. Alistair watched her body shake with each sob she tried to silence. He wanted to hold her, turn back time and take back everything to make her happy. To make them both happy.

"I didn't know how it'd work, but I stupidly believed - no, I _hoped_ \- that we'd figure it out together and make it work." Wren sniffled. "Wynne warned me and I ignored her. I thought we'd be different."

Alistair slumped back down on his bed. He had heard the old mage speak of their relationship at camp. Wren always defended their love regardless of what they all believed. He always found it heartening, but now it was bittersweet. How could they both be so naive?

"They wouldn't have allowed you to stay with me." Alistair finally spoke. "They want an heir and that wouldn't happen with us. If it did, the taint inside us would corrupt the child and it would die."

"You don't know that."

"I wish I didn't." He said quietly, his voice slightly breaking. "They would eventually find me a wife who would be able to give me a healthy child. And no matter how much I love you, I will never be able to betray my oath to marriage. It would be unfair on my…wife."

Wren balled her hands into fists at his words. He was right of course, but it still stung. If it was a different situation, she would have found his loyalty admirable.

She inhaled, calming herself, and turned around to face him. Her green eyes were red-rimmed and watery. She moved towards him and he readied himself for hurtful words or even a strike. Instead she cupped his face; it would have been a tender moment if it weren’t for the slight dig of her nails. "It doesn't matter who you lie with after this – after _me_. It doesn't matter what oath you make, because you will always be mine. And I don't plan on giving up on us that easily."

Wren leant in to kiss his lips and his body responded in kind. He kissed her back, pulling her close to him until she was in his lap. The kiss was angry and possessive. Wren was right; no matter what he'd choose, Alistair's heart would always be hers, as their souls were connected in every way.

They spent their last night together in that room, taking time to say good bye. Their future was foggy before, but little did they know that they created life that night and sealed their fate.

 

* * *

 

9:38 Dragon, eight hours after the attack on Denerim

 

Wren dreamt that she was in a field of long grass, where the weather was warm with a slight breeze. She could hear voices coming from beyond the field. Wren began to follow a stream that seemed to guide her to those voices. She eventually found herself looking out at a small house made of cool, grey stone. Red roses grew out the front and a path led to a small paddock and stable. She saw Max, the painted draft horse that once belonged to Knight Mairi, grazing happily in the sun. Patches the raven preened on the fence. Blaise bounded out of the front door and greeting her with enthusiastic barks. He then turned around and beckoned her to follow him through the same door he had just left. The voices she had heard by the water were coming from the house. Eagerly, Wren followed Blaise, but when she entered the house her surroundings changed.

Everything went dark and felt cold. The mabari wasn't beside her anymore. The friendly voices that enticed her forward had gone. She was alone in the dead, cold void. She felt she was swimming in the middle of the ocean, where there was no sight of the sea floor or surface.

_Mama?_

Wren spun around in the water to see her daughter. Hope stood there, untouched by the supposed water. Behind her blazed a fire. The girl looked to her side as if someone spoke to her, but no one was there. She nodded her head sadly at her invisible companion. Wren tried to call out, but no noise came out of her mouth. She tried to move towards her daughter instead, but seemed to go nowhere. Wren had to watch in horror as the scarred man appeared out of the flames to drag her daughter back in. Both her and Hope reached out and screamed.

That's when Wren woke up.

 

The afternoon sun hurt her eyes. The thumping ache from the back of her head welcomed her back into the waking world. Her arms were scratched and there were some burns over her bandaged body. She could hear people crying and calling out for loved ones, accompanied by the familiar fire bells ringing through town. The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled her nose. As her vision cleared, she saw that she was in an infirmary tent. Filled cots were lined in pairs from one wall to another. Healers from every kind of background treated the victims of the attacks; surgeons, sisters, doctors, nurses, some mages, and even a wise woman.

Beside her own cot was Shianni's. She was bandaged from head to toe and her red hair had been burnt off in patches. Around them both were Soris and his family who looked worn out. Blaise's bulky body was curled around Wren's feet. Alarith was by Shianni's side the way Alistair was at Wren's. They were all covered soot, blood and other grime.

"Wren?" Alistair barely breathed, seeing her wake. She groaned. He let out a small laugh in disbelief.

"Is Shianni okay?" She croaked. Alarith answered grimly, "She's stable so far. They thought she might lose a leg or both, and to be quite honest, it's still up in the air."

"Soris? Eliza? The boys?"

"We're fine, cousin." Soris replied. He sounded drained, as if he had spent his night crying. Wren looked the group over and frowned. She asked where her father and daughter were. They all looked at her with broken but surprised expressions.

"Wren," Alistair whispered, his voice pained. "Don't you remember last night?"

The warden stared at him. She tried to think back but her head hurt too much. He took her hand and tried speak as calmly as he could. "The…Yellow Eyes...they attacked the city. They attacked the palace, set fire to the chantry and alienage. Cyrion was caught in the blaze trying to save the children still stuck in the orphanage. Those bastards took Hope."

His voice broke and he hung his head. Everything came crashing down around Wren. She started to remember it all; her father, her daughter, the sight of the burning vhenedahl… It was like Alistair had opened a door to an over packed cupboard that was tightly locked. Wren started to move herself off of the bed. "I have to see...I have to see..."

Her family protested against her. She needed rest, but they also didn't want her to see the destruction of her home. People tried to physically stop her, but she pushed through them repeating her words over and over. Her stumbling turned into a run, and run she did. Past healers, patients and guards she ran as fast she could in her makeshift nightgown until she crossed the northern gate bridge to the alienage. Her run turned into a cautious walk.

The ground was covered in ash and smoke rose to the sky. The fire that blazed through was now only ember. Many buildings and other structures had collapsed in on themselves. Torched bodies of elves were everywhere. Ash covered their petrified corpses like a thin veil of snow. The vhenedahl sat in charred ruin; generations of love and care were gone in one senseless attack. It had survived through floods, famines, war and blight, but now it was gone. Completely destroyed along with the memories it held…

Tears began to fall from Wren’s eyes.

She made her way to her home, passing what was left of the general store and orphanage. A dark thought pushed its way into her head, making her wonder if her father's body was still in the building. Wren found that the Tabris house was barely standing. The newly built top floor had been wiped out, taking most of the bottom floor's roofing with it. Everything had been ruined by the fire or rubble...all but the ancient dining table. It alone had survived like it had done before. It was very much symbolic of her.

When Alistair and Blaise found Wren, she was on her knees in front the table. She was quiet for she had run out of tears to cry. Her hound whined and snuffled her hand. He hated seeing her upset, because it made him upset too.

"It’s all gone, Alistair." She said, her voice raspy.

"That's not true," he said, sitting down next to her. "Soris and Shianni are alive. Alarith, Eliza and her children _are alive_. Many others got out too."

"That's not what I meant."

He didn't know what to say. Alistair ended up carrying Wren back to the infirmary. It had been based around the palace at his wife's request, so that she could give her people the help they needed. Wren had fallen unconscious fairly quickly after her run, and Alistair needed to find her a bed fast. He returned to the tent they were in before, hoping to find her cot empty, but in the amount time she had been away her space had been quickly filled. Eliza saw him standing in the tent entrance with Wren and left her family to speak with him.

"They're overwhelmed with casualties, aren't they?" He murmured when she reached him. She nodded sadly.

"We tried to save the spot, but..." She began, but he shook his head.

"It's fine. Wren would have put up a fuss anyway, wanting to put other before herself." He gave her a tired smile. "I'll put her in the room she was in before, up in the palace, and have one set up for you and your family."

Eliza tried to argue against his help, but he brushed her off. Alistair told her simply that any friend or family of the Tabris' would always be welcomed under a Theirin roof. He bowed his head to her and turned back around, making his way to the front doors of the royal palace.

When he entered, it took everything he had not to drop Wren in shock. Bodies of guards and servants were covered with blankets, but some had been uncovered by wailing families mourning their child, parent or sibling. Blood pooled on the marble floor and some of it had been splattered on the walls, staining some of the royal portraits including the young face of Maric. No one noticed as their king slowly made his way through the carnage. They all rushed passed them as if he wasn't even there.

They eventually made it to the room Hope and Wren had been sleeping in since Alistair put them under his protection. _So much for my so-called protection_ , he scoffed bitterly at himself.

He gently laid Wren down on the bed and sat at her feet, catching his breath and tidying up his thoughts. Around him he saw Hope's things; assortments of clothes and toys were left on furniture and the floor, new drawings of herself and him together, and the old stuffed griffon on the window sill. Blaise, who had followed Alistair from the moment his mistress ran for the infirmary, sniffed the stuffed toy and let out a sad whine. He took the toy gently in his teeth and made his way up onto the bed, so he could place it in the nook of Wren's arm. The hound looked up at Alistair and gave him another sad whine. The king reached over to give his old friend a pat. "I know, boy. But she’ll be fine. It's Hope we have to worry about."

In agreement, Blaise huffed and decided to lie down. The two of them sat in silence while Wren slept. It was quiet in the room...but not for long. In the study down the hall, he could hear people yelling at one another. With a huff of his own, Alistair got up and left the room. What little peace he gained in that moment was gone.

As he came closer to the door, he was able to distinguish familiar voices from the arguing; The King’s Council had arrived to share their complaints with Queen Anne, while Eamon tried to calm them down. When Alistair opened the door, they all turned and pounced on him. Most them were scared and had valid questions about their safety, but the others were just angry and wanted action. They blamed everyone under the sun for the attack.

"I know you have questions and concerns, but we need to deal with what's in front of us at this moment." Alistair said, his voice exhausted. "The infirmary is overwhelmed with victims of the attack and the fires have only just been extinguished. We need-"

"What we need is action. And justice for those that have been caught in the cross hairs of those cultists! Those cultists who, may I remind you, were here for that mage girl you were protecting! If she hadn’t been here, Denerim would never have been attacked."

Most of the council agreed, some of them more enthusiastically than the others.

“The palace was attacked too, remember,” Lady Isana, the Merchant Guild’s ambassador reminded them. “And they didn’t attack it for no reason either. They were looking for something…or someone, just as they were looking for the girl, no doubt. That’s why they made their way to the dungeons. Am I correct in thinking that, your highness?”

Alistair ground his teeth and made his way to his desk. “You would be.”

The royal treasury wasn’t the target and wouldn't have been much of an issue if taken from the palace's vaults, as the Theirin’s had established many secret caches around the country in case of thievery or another takeover of the crown. No, the only thing of real value in the underbelly of the royal palace was their star prisoner, Anora Mac Tir. If the cult had attacked the palace for her, it was just another reason as to why all the carnage that followed was his fault. And if they were intending to take her, he didn't want to think about how they would use her against the crown.

Queen Anne ignored the dwarf’s comment and stepped in, her voice trying desperately to be placating. "We understand your anger, we do. But there are women and children in desperate need of our collective aid at this _very_ moment. We need to tend to our people right now instead of making them a second priority to vengeance! We would appreciate it if you helped us in-"

One lord sneered. "Most of those in need of aid are those elves from the alienage, and didn't that girl say 'the enemy' had glowing eyes likes elves? How do we know that they weren't a part of the attack?"

"And the bombing of the chantry and our holy ceremony too!" Grand Cleric Elemena chimed in. Some of those scoffed at their theory, while others encouraged it. Alistair balled his hands into fists. Anne crossed her arms.

“How dare you accuse them without reason!" she scolded, a disgusted look on her face. "The elves might not hold much love for the majority of us, but they love their community. The alienage is a symbol of their home and family. For them to destroy it for some bloody gain of power would destroy everything about themselves and their beliefs!”

“And may I remind _you_ that our very own council member, Cyrion Tabris, died in those attacks,” Alistair tried to say scathingly, but his own emotions gave him away as his voice hitched. He inhaled deeply, trying to hold on to any semblance of control he had left before continuing. “I was there when it happened, lords and ladies. I watched as my people ran in fear and I could do _nothing_ about it but try to save as many of them as I could. Be grateful you still have your homes to go back to, because they don’t.”

An older, war weathered lord stepped towards his king and squared his shoulders. His face has hard and covered in blood and soot. "You're a coward. You sit here and cry about some dead knife-ears, but won’t get up and avenge them, let alone the rest of your people under your rule!" He hissed venomously. Alistair raised his head glared at him, but the man didn’t waver at his king's scowl. "Those red cloaked bastards came onto our land, burnt our city and attacked your castle for Maker knows reason, and…nothing! You sit here behind your fancy desk and judge us for being angry! They murdered my son-"

" _AND THEY TOOK MY DAUGHTER!_ " Alistair exploded, slamming his fist on the desk and making everyone jump back out of shock. They had never seen their king act in such a manner, and neither had her mentioned having a daughter before. Anne could see some of them connecting the dots that had been placed in front of them all this time. It made her nervous.

Through gritted teeth, Alistair continued. "You act as if you're the only one who's lost something in this attack. You forget that I am king and that every loss, _every_ _scrap of pain_ _my people endure_ , is on my shoulders! Do not act as if I am blind, my lord.” He let out a dry bark of laughter. “And if I am a coward then you are all hypocrites. You tell me not to care about my people’s suffering, your fellow citizens sand neighbours, so you can have your own revenge. But if it were your homes that were attacked, _your whole family murdered in a fire_ , you would wish for me to aid in your time of pain in whatever way possible."

No one spoke a word. Many looked away sheepishly while the others were insulted. Alistair felt as though he was being tugged in two different directions, both deserving of attention. Alistair rubbed his eyes and sighed tiredly. “I am sorry for the loss of your son, but if I have to set aside my own desires to run after those bastards and get my daughter back, then I Maker-damn expect just as much from you at this time."

The grand cleric began to scold her king before Queen Anne cut her off with a quick and cold voice. “Get out. All of you.”

The council members who had some sense of intelligence and social awareness realised that a line had been crossed to make their beloved rulers act out like they had. To be coldly kicked out by Queen Anne meant something more than King Alistair raising his voice. They all quickly ushered the more closed-minded individuals out of the study and into the hallway. Finally, the king and queen were alone.

Alistair pushed everything on his desk off in one explosive swipe. He got up and stormed towards a bust of his great grandfather, throwing it on the ground. It shattered on impact. He became a hurricane of destruction, breaking and throwing things around, making Anne dodge the occasional trinket in flight. Alistair let out a strangled cry before crumbling to the floor. Anne knelt down to his level and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Feel better?” she tried to joke but her scared expression gave her away; he had frightened her. Alistair reached out for her and Anne embraced him. He sobbed into her chest like he had when they lost their son...

“You have to find her, Alistair,” she said softly, stroking his hair. He pulled away and gave her surprised look. Anne touched his face to wipe away a tear. “I’ll hold down the fort here and make sure everything gets done, but you,” she smiled, “You and Wren need to go after them and find your daughter.”

“Why…” he began, but she looked down at her hands and shook her head slightly.

“Because I don’t want to see you lose another part of yourself.”

Alistair held her hand in his, squeezing it gently. They shared that moment in silent understanding for as long as they could.

 

Wren woke again, but not in the infirmary. She was in her room at the royal palace. How long had she been asleep? Were her family still at the infirmary?

With a groan Wren sat up slowly and saw Blaise snoring at her feet. Beside her slumped the familiar old griffon. She remembered when her grandmother gave it to her on her fifth birthday. She also remembered the day she gave it to her father to give to Shianni. And now it was Hope’s...but Hope wasn't here.

She took the toy and held it close to her chest. Her home was gone, her father was gone, and now so was her daughter. She wanted to turn back time and change every choice she had made since the blight, for everything seemed to go to shit since the day of her wedding.

“What do I do, Papa?” Wren whispered. “I’m lost without you.”

_You’re not lost, little bird, I will always be here._

Slipping carefully off the bed, she wandered over to the window. Smoke was still rising, but the colour wasn’t the thick, dark grey as it was when she awoke the first time. The sky was clearing.

_You see, things are getting better already._

Wren turned away and moved to the mirror by the dresser. She took off her clothes and removed the bandages that covered the worst of her wounds. She gingerly inspected her body; she could see where the flames had licked at her body, and where falling debris scraped her skin, but they healed quickly and left a collection of scarred tissue. The one wound that didn’t feel the complete grace of her unnatural healing abilities was where the mage struck her with their lightning spell. The scorched and bruised flesh branched off across her chest, reaching over her shoulders and slightly underneath her breasts like the branches and roots of a tree.

_The vhenadahl remembered, and now so must you._

The muscles underneath twitched uncomfortably. Hopefully by the end of the day it would be healed. Wren took the water soaked sponge from the wash basin, and began cleaning away the grime that accumulated over her body. Another sickening thought came to her as she realised she was washing away what was left of her home and people off. She gently dried herself and slowly dressed herself in a loose tunic and cotton pants, before leaving the room too full of things that reminded Wren of what was taken from her.

The warden was making her way down to the infirmary until she was stopped by the sound of children giggling. Her heart raced believing it was Hope, but after following the sound she found herself gut wrenched instead; her nephews, Evan and Mordred, were playing with familiar looking dolls, while being over watched by their mother.

“Wren, you’re awake!” Eliza gasped, standing up and rushing to her as fast as she could while pregnant. She and the boys were clean and dressed in fancier outfits than before. “Are you in pain? Come sit down and have some tea.”

She gently took Wren’s hand and led her to the outdoor love seat she had been sitting on prior to the warden’s arrival. Silently, Eliza poured tea into an empty tea cup and handed it to Wren. The two women watched the boys play with what Wren had realised were old gifts of Alistair’s that she had given to him on the road years before.

“Where’s Soris?” Wren asked quietly. Eliza rested her cup and saucer on her bulging belly.

“He’s with Shianni,” she answered softly, “He hasn’t left her side since…”

She trailed off, but it was understood. Wren was ashamed that she wasn’t strong enough to be by their cousin’s side too. As if hearing her thoughts Eliza moved her hand to hers, holding it firmly. The look in her eyes were reassuring, as if she was telling her to not think that way without actually speaking.

“The one thing I have learnt in my time married to my beloved husband,” Eliza murmured, with a gentle smile on her lips, “Is that the Tabris’ are a strong folk, and that as long as they have something or someone to fight for, they will thrive and grow even stronger. Light always prevails over darkness, Wren. Never forget that.”

Wren gave her a small, sad smile. “You sound like my Papa.”

Eliza lifted her hand and brushed Wren’s auburn hair behind her ear. It was something so simple, and yet so intimate that it almost brought her to tears. Eliza admired her face for a moment and replied, “Well, he was right. He always was.”

They looked away from each other, and continued sipping on their tea. They enjoyed the strange peace the rose garden brought to their battered hearts in silence. An hour or so passed them by before Eliza led Wren up to Shianni’s new room. Wren opened the door to find her cousins in a quiet conversation. Soris looked exhausted and ready to cry at any given moment, while Shianni was all smiles despite looking like a Nevarran mummy.

“Well hey, cousin. Aren’t you a sight for a sore eye.” Shianni weakly joked, noting her patched left eye. Wren climbed onto the bed opposite to Soris. She held her baby cousin’s bandaged hand.

“I’m so sorry this happened, that I wasn’t fast enough-”

Shianni hushed her. Her good eye began to tear up and said, “None of this is your fault, Wren. Those ass holes who did it, who _hurt_ us, they’re to blame. Not you, and definitely not Hope.”

At her daughter’s name Wren burst into tears. Her baby cousin squeezed her hand as much as she could without it hurting herself. Soris reached over and took Wren’s other hand too.

“I don’t think Uncle Cyrion would want you to think that way either.” He murmured, “Whatever you choose to do from here, we will always be with you, cousin.”

“Always.” Shianni agreed.

_You will never be alone when they are with you, little bird._

 

It was a hard day in Denerim and it felt like it was going forever. But with the collective help of every able body they could get their hands on, the wounded were treated and the worst of them were found rooms within the palace, the homeless were found beds and a warm bowl of stew, and the dead were treated with respect and were dug graves. The personal support of the queen and king gained the couple more love from the people, but some of those within the council weren’t so filled with admiration.

Alistair found himself slumped against the wall with the tavern owner, eating some bread and drinking ale. They tiredly laughed about nothing and chatted about everything. _The one good thing about tragedy is how it brings people together_ , he thought to himself. Anne came over to check on the two men, bemused by their high spirits. Alistair raised his mug of ale, and called out to her. “Come to drink with us and share a tale or two, dear wife?”

His new friend cheered at that merry thought.

“I was checking up on how you were doing actually, but you seem to be doing swimmingly.” She laughed. Quickly turning the conversation to business, she informed her husband that despite the structural damage of the palace, chantry and alienage, everything else was in check and being seen to. “I think now all we need is a good night’s sleep, if we can.”

They all agreed. Downing his mug, Alistair set aside his plate and made his goodbyes to the tavern keeper. Kissing Anne on the cheek, he made his way to his room.

He felt numb and he wasn’t sure if that was sleep deprivation, the alcohol, or something deeper. He didn’t have the brain strength at the time to dwell on it. Alistair came to his door but it was already left slightly ajar. Inside on the window bench sat Wren. Her head spun around, but the sight of him calmed her.

“I’m sorry I’m here, I just…” she mumbled, staring at her hands. “I needed somewhere quiet where no one would find me. Somewhere away from...all of _her_ things.”

He gave her an understanding nod. “That’s okay, I understand.”

They didn’t speak while Alistair washed his hands and face, and then took off his boots. He hadn’t changed since before he left with Wren and Hope for the celebration…

"I feel like I'm being torn in two,” Wren finally spoke. “One half of me wants to stay with my people and my family, to help them through this. The other half needs to find Hope and avenge my loved ones’ pain."

"I know the feeling." Alistair replied. Every day he did. It was his curse as king.

He took his ash covered tunic off, and from the corner of his eye he saw her glimpsing his way. Wren quickly looked out the window and spoke again. “I don’t know what do. I don’t know how to decide. What about you-"

She looked back at him and lost her words. Alistair was without a shirt and watching her. It had been so long since she last saw him bare chested; he was still muscular but not as toned as he once was. Ruling made him pudgier in places, but she personally thought it suited him better. Shaking her head as if caught in a dream, Wren coughed and mumbled something about Queen Anne walking in, and decided it was time to leave. His hand stole hers as she walked past him, stopping her in her tracks.

“Anne and I...we haven’t slept in the same room since… _for a very long time_ ,” he quietly explained.  “I just…I need to be with you tonight, Wren. I don’t want to be with anyone but with you right now.”

Her eyes met his, almost in disbelief in what she thought he was suggesting. Wren’s breath was lost. Time stopped, but her heart didn’t. Its beats were strong and fast, and beat only for him. She wanted the same as he did. She _needed_ him.

_Let love back in, little bird. What else have you got to lose?_

The voice was right; what had she left to lose? She had felt only pain and suffering in the past years, let alone the past day. She deserved a moment of peace, and damn the consequences, she was going to take it. Wren reached for the nape of his neck, and pulled him hungrily in for a kiss. When their lips touched it felt right, as if they were two lost pieces finally reuniting, and in many ways they were.

Alistair cradled her face while his other hand fisted in her hair. Hers wandered over his skin feeling the scars up and down his back. She let her nails dig in just above his pant line. A small noise escaped from his lips.  _He feels different with his beard_ , she thought fleetingly. 

They took their time with their touches. It had been a long time since they had been with someone, let alone each other. They wanted to savour their reunion, they wanted to savour the peace and serenity it brought. Even taking off their clothes and tossing it on the floor was agonisingly slow. Wren briefly felt a wave of anxiety about how she looked. Not only had she gained more scars, but she had given birth. Things weren’t as tight and perky as she would have liked and she had far more stretch marks than before, but Alistair didn’t care; he admired her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His fingertips lightly traced the fresh lightning scars that had finally healed by the end of the day.

“Stop it,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze but not pulling away. He kissed her cheek and then her neck.

“Why? You’re perfect. I always were.” he murmured into his skin, tracing kisses over the scars that covered her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to stifle a moan. It really had been a long time.

Alistair swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed, putting her down gently on the edge and sunk to his knees. He watched Wren bite her lip as he slid his hands slowly up her legs and stopped at her thighs, caressing them slowly. Alistair’s strong hands slid up and braced her hips. With a light tug she fell on her back and he pulled her closer to him. His lips caressed the inner of her thighs, parting them with love and care.

Her breath hitched when he finally decided to indulge her. Alistair's tongue graced her opening, wetting it further. His tongue ran slow circles around her clit. Wren whimpered and pushed herself against his mouth. If his own desire wasn't rearing its head he would have laughed wickedly at her impatience. With a gasp Wren's hands latched onto his head, her fingers running through his hair and her nails grazing his head. That and her moans seemed to encourage him further. Alistair started to get creative with his moves with mix of suckling and swift flicks of his tongue. Wren hadn't been touched in so long, particularly by him, an so she wondered if she was caught in one of her dreams again.

Wren hissed a curse, letting her body shake with ecstasy. She rode his face to savour the last wave. After lapping up what was left of her, Alistair raised his head and gave her the biggest satisfied grin she had ever seen. Almost growling with need and annoyance, Wren lifted herself up to kiss him. She could taste herself on him and it made her want him more. Pulling away, Alistair chuckled to himself and stood up. He let Wren’s hands wander up his thighs, carefully tracing his hips and up his sides, only to let them slide down to his ass. He let out a shuddering sigh at the feel of her nails scraping his skin. She kissed his abdomen and trailed down, thinking about all the ways she was going to slowly indulge him. With a quick mental note of his unchanged size and girth, Wren licked the tip of his cock before taking him in. He bucked under her touch, almost collapsing on her.

Collecting himself, Alistair pulled her head away gently. "Not this time," he said huskily. He climbed up on the mattress and she slid herself further up towards the bed head. Wren watched him prowl towards her, positioned himself in between her legs, and loomed over. He kissed her nipples until they were peaked like arrow heads. She let out small moan.

“What are you waiting for?” Wren asked breathlessly. Without looking away from her, Alistair slid himself inside. They both gasped in unison, frozen in the moment. It lasted for maybe a second, but it felt like time had stopped all together. Alistair pulled Wren upright so she was straddling him and their eyes were locked. As they moved with each other she held his face, watching every expression that crossed his face. There were no slow games now, only a familiar love that drove them. They kissed like they were back in their tent; no fear of what was outside their bubble, no worries or stress of other people and their opinions. It was just the two of them together and nothing else mattered.

Wren's small kisses along his jaw turned into gentle nips. With a small tug of his hair they made their way down his neck. With a trail led by her tongue, Wren returned to his lips. Alistair moaned and tossed her on her back again, thrusting into her with more virility than before. Her nails dug into his back as he plunged deeper into her. She could feel the build-up of fire in her belly and begged out loud for it to release her. Wren held him closer to her until she was granted her wish. Her body shook with ecstasy, leaving a warm vibration that spread throughout her whole body. Wren felt like she was floating in a hot bath on the coldest day. Hearing her cry out with pleasure, Alistair was pushed over the edge. He bit into the crook of her neck and let out a violent groan as he came to her, filling her with his own warmth.

They spent their minutes regaining their breath and stamina in each other’s arms, taking in the peace that they both knew would eventually fade.

"I love you, Wren," Alistair murmured, caressing the tattoos that framed her face. He slowly tucked a lock of her hair behind her pointed ear, letting his fingers run down the ridge of it.

"I love you too, Alistair." Wren whispered back. She touched his face gently, as if he was a fragile illusion that she would break and lose forever. Wren kissed him slowly and deeply before pulling away. "Always."


End file.
